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diff --git a/old/tgobh10h.htm b/old/tgobh10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..83cc7a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tgobh10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3006 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Gathering of Brother Hilarius</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Gathering of Brother Hilarius, by Michael Fairless</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Gathering of Brother Hilarius, by Michael Fairless +(#2 in our series by Michael Fairless) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Gathering of Brother Hilarius + +Author: Michael Fairless + +Release Date: January, 1997 [EBook #789] +[This file was first posted on January 25, 1997] +[Most recently updated: September 17, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1912 John Murray edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>THE GATHERING OF BROTHER HILARIUS</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PART I - THE SEED</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I - BLIND EYES IN THE FOREST</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Hilarius stood at the Monastery gate, looking away down the smooth, +well-kept road to the highway beyond. It lay quiet and serene +in the June sunshine, the white way to the outer world, and not even +a dust cloud on the horizon promised the approach of the train of sumpter +mules laden with meats for the bellies and cloth for the backs of the +good Brethren within. The Cellarer lacked wine, the drug stores +in the farmery were running low; last, but not least, the Precentor +had bespoken precious colours, rich gold, costly vellum, and on these +the thoughts of Hilarius tarried with anxious expectation.</p> +<p>On his left lay the forest, home of his longing imaginings. +The Monastery wall crept up one side of it, and over the top the great +trees peered and beckoned with their tossing, feathery branches. +Twice had Hilarius walked there, attending the Prior as he paced slowly +and silently along the mossy ways, under the strong, springing pines; +and the occasions were stored in his memory with the glories of St Benedict’s +Day and Our Lady’s Festivals. Away to the right, within +the great enclosure, stretched the Monastery lands, fair to the eye, +with orchard and fruitful field, teeming with glad, unhurried labour.</p> +<p>At a little elevation, overlooking the whole domain, rose the Priory +buildings, topped by the Church, crown and heart of the place, signing +the sign of the Cross over the daily life and work of the Brethren, +itself the centre of that life, the object of that work, ever unfinished +because love knows not how to make an end. To the monks it was +a page in the history of the life of the Order, written in stone, blazoned +with beauty of the world’s treasure; a page on which each generation +might spell out a word, perchance add a line, to the greater glory of +God and St Benedict. They were always at work on it, stretching +out eager hands for the rare stuffs and precious stones devout men brought +from overseas, finding a place for the best of every ordered craft; +their shame an uncouth line or graceless arch, their glory each completed +pinnacle and fretted spire; ever restoring, enlarging, repairing, spendthrift +of money and time in the service of the House of the Lord.</p> +<p>The sun shone hot on grey wall and green garth; the spirit of insistent +peace brooded over the place. The wheeling white pigeons circling +the cloister walls cried peace; the sculptured saints in their niches +over the west door gave the blessing of peace; an old, blind monk crossed +the garth with the hesitating gait of habit lately acquired - on his +face was great peace. It rested everywhere, this peace of prayerful +service, where the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer smote the +sound of the Office bell.</p> +<p>Hilarius, at the gate, questioned the road again and again for sign +of the belated train. It was vexatious; the Prior’s lips +would take a thinner line, for the mules were already some days overdue; +and it was ill to keep the Prior waiting. The soft June wind swept +the fragrance of Mary’s lilies across to the lad; he turned his +dreamy, blue eyes from the highway to the forest. The scent of +the pinewoods rushed to meet his sudden thought. Should he, dare +he, break cloister, and taste the wondrous delight of an unwalled world? +It were a sin, a grave sin, in a newly-made novice, cloister-bred. +The sweet, pungent smell overpowered him; the trees beckoned with their +long arms and slender fingers; the voice of the forest called, and Hilarius, +answering, walked swiftly away, with bowed head and beating heart, between +the sunburnt pine-boles.</p> +<p>At last he ventured to stop and look around him, his fair hair aflame +in the sunlight, his eyes full of awe of this arched and pillared city +of mystery and wonder.</p> +<p>It was very silent. Here and there a coney peeped out and fled, +and a woodpecker toiled with sharp, effective stroke. Hilarius’ +eyes shone as he lifted his head and caught sight of the sunlit blue +between the great, green-fringed branches: it was as if Our Lady trailed +her gracious robe across the tree-tops. Then, as he bathed his +thirsty soul in the great sea of light and shade, cool depths and shifting +colours, the sense of his wrong-doing slipped from him, and joy replaced +it - joy so great that his heart ached with it. He went on his +way, singing <i>Lauda Syon</i>, his eyes following the pine-boles, and +presently, coming out into an open glade, halted in amazement.</p> +<p>A flower incarnate stood before him; stood - nay, danced in the wind. +Over the sunny sward two little scarlet-clad feet chased each other +in rhythmic maze; dainty little brown hands spread the folds of the +deep blue skirt; a bodice, silver-laced, served as stalk, on which balanced, +lightly swaying, the flower of flowers itself. Hilarius’ +eyes travelled upwards and rested there. Cheeks like a sunburnt +peach, lips, a scarlet bow; shimmering, tender, laughing grey eyes curtained +by long curling lashes; soft tendrils of curly hair, blue black in the +shadows, hiding the low level brow. A sight for gods, but not +for monks; above all, not for untutored novices such as Hilarius.</p> +<p>His sin had found him out; it was the Devil, the lovely lady of St +Benedict; he drew breath and crossed himself hastily with a murmured +“<i>Apage Sataas</i>!”</p> +<p>The dancer stopped, conscious perhaps of a chill in the wind.</p> +<p>“O what a pretty boy!” she cried gaily. “Playing +truant, I dare wager. Come and dance!”</p> +<p>Hilarius crimsoned with shame and horror. “Woman,” +he said, and his voice trembled somewhat, “art thou not shamed +to deck thyself in this devil’s guise?”</p> +<p>The dancer bit her lip and stamped her little red shoe angrily.</p> +<p>“No more devil’s guise than thine own,” she retorted, +eyeing his semi-monastic garb with scant favour. “Can a +poor maid not practise her steps in the heart of a forest, but a cloister-bred +youngster must cry devil’s guise?”</p> +<p>As she spoke her anger vanished like a summer cloud, and she broke +into peal on peal of joyous laughter. “Poor lad, with thy +talk of devils; hast thou never looked a maid in the eyes before?”</p> +<p>Shrewdly hit, mistress; never before has Hilarius looked a maid in +the eyes, and now he drops his own.</p> +<p>“Dost thou not know it is sin to deck the body thus, and entice +men’s souls to their undoing?”</p> +<p>“An what is the matter with my poor body, may it please you, +kind sir?” she asked demurely, and stood with downcast eyes, like +a scolded child.</p> +<p>“It is wrong to deck the body,” began Hilarius, softening +at her attitude, “because, because - ”</p> +<p>Again the merry laugh rang out.</p> +<p>“Because, because - nay, Father” (with a mock reverence), +“methinks thy sermon is not ready; let it simmer awhile, and <i>I</i> +will catechise. How old art thou?” She held up her +small finger admonishingly.</p> +<p>“Seventeen,” replied Hilarius, surprised into reply.</p> +<p>“Art thou a monk?”</p> +<p>“Nay, a novice only.”</p> +<p>“Hast thou ever loved?”</p> +<p>Hilarius threw up his hands in shocked indignation, but she went +on unconcerned -</p> +<p>“’Twas a foolish question; the answer’s writ large +for any maid to read. But tell me, why art thou angry at the thought +of love?”</p> +<p>Hilarius felt the ground slipping from under his feet.</p> +<p>“There is an evil love, and a holy love; it is good to love +God and the Saints and the Brethren - ”</p> +<p>“But not the sisters?” the wicked little laugh pealed +out. “Poor sisters! Why, boy, the world is full of +love, and not all for the Saints and the Brethren, and it is good - +good - good!” She opened her arms wide. “’Tis +the devil and the monks who call it evil. Hast thou never seen +the birds mate in the springtime, nor heard the nightingale sing?”</p> +<p>“It is well for a husband to love his wife, and a mother her +child. That is love in measure, but not so high as the love we +bear to God and the Saints!” quoth Hilarius sententiously, mindful +of yesterday’s homily in the Frater.</p> +<p>“But how can’st thou know that thou lovest the Saints?” +the dancer persisted.</p> +<p>How did he know?</p> +<p>“How dost thou know that thou lovest thy mother?” he +cried triumphantly, forgetting the reprobate nature of the catechist, +and anxious only to come well out of the wordy war.</p> +<p>But the unexpected happened.</p> +<p>“Dost thou dare speak to me of my mother? <i>I</i>, love +her? - I <i>hate</i> her;” and she flung herself down on the grass +in a passion of weeping.</p> +<p>Even a master of theology is helpless before a woman’s tears.</p> +<p>“Maid, maid,” said Hilarius, in deep distress, “indeed +I did not mean to vex thee;” and he came up and laid his hand +on her shoulder.</p> +<p>So successfully can the Prince of Darkness simulate grief!</p> +<p>The dancer sat up and brushed away her tears; she looked fairer and +more flowerlike than before, sitting on the green sward, looking up +at him through shining lashes.</p> +<p>“There, boy, ’tis naught. How could’st thou +know? But what of thine own mother?”</p> +<p>“I know not.”</p> +<p>“Nay, what is this? And thy father?”</p> +<p>“He was a gentle knight who died in battle ere I knew him. +I came a little child to the Monastery, and know no other place.”</p> +<p>“Ah,” - vindictively, - “then <i>thy</i> mother +may have been a light o’ love.”</p> +<p>“Light of love; it has a wondrous fair sound,” said Hilarius +with a smile.</p> +<p>The maid looked at him speechless.</p> +<p>“<i>Go home, Boy</i>,” she said at last emphatically.</p> +<p>Just then a lad, a tumbler by his dress, pushed a way through the +undergrowth, and stood grinning at the pair.</p> +<p>“So, Gia!” he said. “We must make haste; +the others wait.”</p> +<p>“’Tis my brother,” said the dancer, “and” +- pointing to the bag slung across the youth’s shoulder - “I +trust he hath a fine fat hen from thy Monastery for our meal.”</p> +<p>Hilarius broke into a cold sweat.</p> +<p>The Convent’s hens! The Saints preserve us! Was +nothing sacred, and were the Ten Commandments written solely for use +in the Monasteries?</p> +<p>“’Tis stealing,” he said feebly.</p> +<p>“’Tis stealing,” the dancer mocked. “Hast +thou another sermon ready, Sir Preacher?”</p> +<p>“Empty bellies make light fingers,” quoth the youth. +“Did’st thou ever hunger, master?”</p> +<p>“There is the fast of Lent which presses somewhat,” said +Hilarius.</p> +<p>“But ever a meal certain once in the day?” queried the +girl.</p> +<p>“Ay, surely, and collation also; and Sunday is no fast.”</p> +<p>The mischievous apes laughed - how they laughed!</p> +<p>“So, good Preacher,” said the dancer at last, rising +to her feet, “thou dost know it is wrong to steal; but hast never +felt hunger. Thou dost know it is wrong to love any but God, the +Saints, and thy mother; but thou hast never known a mother, nor felt +what it was to love. Blind eyes! Blind eyes! the very forest +could teach thee these things an thou would’st learn. Farewell, +good novice, back to thy Saints and thy nursery; for me the wide wide +world; hunger and love - love - love!”</p> +<p>She seized her brother’s hand and together they danced away +like two bright butterflies among the trees.</p> +<p>Hilarius stared after them until they disappeared, and then with +dazed eyes and drooping head took his way back to the Monastery. +The train of mules had just arrived; all was stir, bustle, and explanation; +and in the thick of it he slipped in unseen, unquestioned; but he was +hardly conscious of this mercy vouchsafed him, for in his heart reigned +desolation and doubt, and in his ears rang the dancer’s parting +cry, “Hunger and love - love - love!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II - THE LOVE OF PRIOR STEPHEN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Brother Bernard, the Precentor, dealt out gold, paint and vellum +with generous hand to his favourite pupil, and wondered at his downcast +look.</p> +<p>“Methinks this gold is dull, Brother,” said Hilarius +one day, fretfully, to his old master.</p> +<p>And again -</p> +<p>“’Tis very poor vermilion.”</p> +<p>The Brother looked at him enquiry.</p> +<p>“Nay, nay, boy; ’tis thine eyes at fault; naught ails +the colours.”</p> +<p>Later, the Precentor came to look at the delicate border Hilarius +was setting to the page of the Nativity of Our Lady.</p> +<p>“Now may God be good to us!” he cried with uplifted hands. +“Since when did man paint the Blessed Mother with grey eyes and +black hair - curly too, i’ faith?”</p> +<p>Hilarius crimsoned, he was weary of limning ever with blue and gold, +he faltered.</p> +<p>It was the same in chapel. The insistent question pursued him +through chant and psalm. Did he really <i>love</i> the Saints +- St Benedict, St Scholastica, St Bernard, St Hilary? The names +left him untouched; but his lips quivered as he thought of the great +love between the holy brother and sister of his Order. If he had +had a sister would they have loved like that?</p> +<p>The Saints’ Days came and went, and he scourged himself with +the repeated question, kneeling with burning cheeks, and eyes from which +tears were not absent, in the Chapel of the Great Mother. “Light +of Love,” the girl had called his mother; what more beautiful +name could he find for the Queen of Saints herself? So he prayed +in his simplicity:- “Great Light of Love, Mother of my mother, +grant love, love, love, to thy poor sinful son!”</p> +<p>The question came in his daily life.</p> +<p>Did he love the Prior? He feared him; and his voice was for +Hilarius as the voice of God Himself. Brother John? He feared +him too; Brother John’s tongue was a thing to fear. Brother +Richard, old, half-blind? Surely he loved Brother Richard? - sad, +helpless, and lonely, by reason of his infirmities - or was it only +pity he felt for him?</p> +<p>Nay, let be; he loved them all. The Monastery was his home, +the Prior his father, the monks his brethren; why heed the wild words +of the witch in the forest? And yet what was it she had said? +“For me the wide world, hunger, and love - love - love!”</p> +<p>He wandered in the Monastery garden and was troubled by its beauties. +Two sulphur butterflies sported around the tall white lilies at the +farmery door. Did they love?</p> +<p>He watched the sparrows at their second nesting, full of business +and cheerful bickerings. Did they love?</p> +<p><i>She</i> had said the answer was writ large for him to see: he +wandered staring, wide-eyed but sightless.</p> +<p>At last in his sore distress he turned to the Prior, as the ship-wrecked +mariner turns to the sea-girt rock that towers serene and unhurt above +the devouring waves.</p> +<p>The Prior heard him patiently, with here and there a shrewd question. +When the halting tale was told he mused awhile, his stern blue eyes +grew tender, and a little smile troubled the firm line of his mouth.</p> +<p>“My son,” he said at length, “thou art in the wrong +school; nursery, was it the maid said? A shrewd lass and welcome +to the hen. Thou art a limner at heart - Brother Bernard tells +of thy wondrous skill with the brush - and to be limner thou must learn +to hunger and to love as the maid said. Ay, boy, and to be monk +too, though alack, men gainsay it.”</p> +<p>“Father,” said Hilarius, waxing bold from excessive need, +“did’st thou ever love as the maid meant?”</p> +<p>“Ay, boy - thy mother.”</p> +<p>There was a long silence. Then the boy said timidly:-</p> +<p>“The maid said she might be light of love; ’tis a beautiful +thought.”</p> +<p>The Prior started, and looked at him curiously:-</p> +<p>“What didst thou tell the maid?”</p> +<p>“That I never knew her, but that my father was a gentle knight +who died ere I saw him; and then the maid said perchance my mother was +light of love.”</p> +<p>“Boy,” said the Prior gravely, “’tis a weary +tale, and sad of telling. Thy mother was wondrous fair without, +but she reckoned love lightly, nay, knew it not for the holy thing it +is, but thought only of bodily lusts. Pray for her soul” +- his voice grew stern - “as for one of those upon whom God, in +His great pity, may have mercy. Thus have I prayed these many +years.”</p> +<p> Hilarius looked at him in wide-eyed horror:-</p> +<p>“She was evil, wicked, my mother?”</p> +<p>“Ay - a light woman, that was what the maid meant.”</p> +<p>Then great darkness fell upon the soul of Hilarius, and he clasped +the Prior’s knees weeping and praying like a little child.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“And so, my son,” said the Prior, “for a time thou +shalt go out into the world, to strive and fail, hunger and love; only +have a care that thou art chaste in heart and life; for it is the pure +shall see God, and seeing love Him. Leave me now that. I +may set in order thy going; and send the Chamberlain hither to me.”</p> +<p>That night Hilarius knelt through the long hours at the great Rood, +and then at St Mary Maudlin’s altar he did penance for his dead +mother’s sin.</p> +<p>A week later he left the Monastery as a bird leaves its nest, nay, +is pushed out by the far-seeing parent bird, full of vague terrors of +the great world without. He had a purse for his immediate needs; +a letter to a great knight, Sir John Maltravers, who would be his patron; +and another to the Prior’s good friend, the Abbat of St Alban’s. +The Convent bade him a sad farewell, for they loved this gentle lad +who had been with them from a little child; and Brother Richard strained +his filmy eyes to look his last at the young face he would never see +again.</p> +<p>The Prior gave him the Communion; and later walked beside him to +the gates. Then as Hilarius knelt he blessed him; and the boy, +overmastered by nameless fear, sprang up and prayed that he might stay +and learn some other way, however hard. The Prior shook his head.</p> +<p>“Nay, my son, so it must be; else how shall I answer to the +Master for this most precious lamb of my flock? Come back to us +- an thou can’st - let no fear deter thee; only take heed, when +thine eyes are opened and the great gifts of hunger and love are vouchsafed +thee, to keep still the faithful heart of a little child.”</p> +<p>Then he bade him go; and Hilarius, for the pull of his heart-strings, +must needs run hot-foot down the broad forest road and along the highway, +without daring to look back, and so out into the wide, wide world.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III - THE KING’S SONG-BIRD</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Martin the Minstrel sat under a wayside oak singing softly to himself +as he tuned his vielle. He was a long lanky fellow with straight +black locks flat against his sallow face, and dark eyes that smouldered +in hollow cavities. He wore the King’s colours, and broke +a manchet of white bread with his mid-day repast.</p> +<p>“Heigh-ho!” sighed Martin, and laid the vielle lovingly +beside him, “another four leagues to Westminster, and I weary +enough of shoe-leather already, and not another penny piece in my pocket +’til I win back to good King Ned. A brave holiday I have +had, from Candlemas to Midsummer; free to sing or to be silent, to smile +or frown; wide England instead of palace walls; a crust of bread and +a jug of cider instead of a king’s banquet. Now but another +few leagues and the cage again. Money in my pocket, true; but +a song here and a song there, such as suit the fancy of the Court gentles, +not of Martin the Minstrel. Heigh-ho, heigh-ho! ’tis a poor +bird sings at the word of a king, and a poor enough song too, if Edward +did but know it.</p> +<p>“Who comes here? Faith, the lad goes a steady pace and +carries a light heart from his song; and no ill voice either.”</p> +<p>It was Hilarius, and he sang the <i>Alma Redemptoris</i> as he sped +along the green grass which bordered the highway.</p> +<p>When Martin hailed him he turned aside gladly, and his face lit up +at the sight of the vielle.</p> +<p>“Whence dost thou come, lad?” said Martin, eyeing him +with interest.</p> +<p>“Many days’ journey from the Monastery of Prior Stephen,” +answered Hilarius.</p> +<p>“But thou art no monk!”</p> +<p>“Nay, a novice scarcely; but the Prior hath bidden me go forth +to see the world. It is wondrous fair,” he added sincerely.</p> +<p>“He who speaks thus is cloister-bred,” said Martin, and +as Hilarius made sign of assent, “’tis writ on thy face +as well. Thy Prior gave thee letters to the Abbat of St Peter’s, +I doubt not; thy face is set for Westminster.”</p> +<p>“Ay, for Westminster, but my letters are for that good knight, +Sir John Maltravers. I should have made an end of my journeying +ere now but that two days ago I met strange company. They took +my purse and hat and shoes, and kept me with them all night until the +late dawn. Then they gave me my goods again, and bade me God-speed.’</p> +<p>“But kept thy purse?” Martin laughed.</p> +<p>“Nay, it is here, and naught is missing. It was all passing +strange, and I feared them, for they looked evil men; yet they did me +no wrong, and set me on my way gently enough, giving me provision, which +I lacked.”</p> +<p>“Pick-purses and cut-throats afraid of God’s judgments +for once,” muttered Martin; then aloud, “Well, young sir, +we shall do well if we win Westminster before night-fall; shall we journey +together since our way is the same?”</p> +<p>Hilarius assented gladly; and as they went, Martin told him of Court +and King, and the wondrous doings when the Princess Isabel was wed. +He listened open-eyed to tales of joust and revel and sport; and heard +eagerly all the minstrel could tell of Sir John Maltravers himself, +a man of great and good reputation, and no mean musician; “and,” +added Martin, “three fair daughters he hath, the eldest Eleanor, +fairest of them all, of whom men say she would fain be a nun. +Thou art a pretty lad, I wager one or other will claim thee for page.”</p> +<p>“I will strive to serve well,” said Hilarius soberly, +“but I have never spoken but to one maid ’til yesterday, +when a woman gave me good-morrow.”</p> +<p>Martin looked at his companion queerly.</p> +<p>“And thou art for Westminster! Nay, but by all the Saints +this Prior of thine is a strange master!”</p> +<p>“It is but for a time,” said Hilarius, “then I +shall go back to the Monastery again. But first I would learn +to be a real limner; I have some small skill with the brush,” +he added simply.</p> +<p>Martin stared.</p> +<p>“Back to the cloister? Nay, lad, best turn about and +get back now, not wait till thou hast had a taste of Court life. +Joust and banquet and revel, revel, banquet, and joust, much merry-making +and little reason, much love and few marryings: a gay round, but not +such as makes a monk.”</p> +<p>Hilarius smiled.</p> +<p>“Nay, that life will not be for me. I am to serve my +lord, write for him, methinks. But tell me, good Martin, dost +thou love the Court? It seems a fine thing to be the King’s +Minstrel.”</p> +<p>“Nay, lad, nay,” said the other hastily, “give +me the open country and the greenwood, and leave to sing or be silent. +Still, the King is a good master, and lets me roam as I list if I will +but come back; ’tis ill-faring in winter, so back I go to pipe +in my cage and follow the Court until next Lady-day lets the sun in +on us again.”</p> +<p>He struck his vielle lightly, and the two fell into a slower pace +as the minstrel sang. Hilarius’ eyes filled with tears, +for he was still heart-sore, and Martin’s voice rose and fell +like the wind in the tossing tree-tops which had beckoned him over the +Monastery wall. The song itself was sad - of a lover torn from +his mistress and borne away captive to alien service. When it +was ended they took a brisker pace in silence; then, after a while, +Hilarius said timidly:-</p> +<p>“Did’st thou sing of thyself, good Martin?”</p> +<p>“Ay, lad, and of my mistress.” He stopped suddenly, +louted low to the sky, and with comprehensive gesture took in the countryside. +“A fair mistress, lad, and a faithful one, though of many moods. +A man suns himself in the warmth of her caresses by day, and at night +she is cold, chaste, unattainable; at one time she is all smiles and +tears, then with boisterous gesture she bids one seek shelter from her +buffets. She gives all and yet nothing; she trails the very traces +of her hair across a man’s face only to elude him. She holds +him fast, for she is mother of all his children; yet he must seek as +though he knew her not, or she flouts him.”</p> +<p>Hilarius listened eagerly. Was this what the dancer had meant +- the “wide wide world, hunger and love”?</p> +<p>“Did’st thou ever hunger, good Martin?”</p> +<p>“Ay, lad,” said the minstrel, surprised, “and ’tis +good sauce for the next meal”</p> +<p>“Did’st thou ever love?”</p> +<p>Martin broke into a great laugh.</p> +<p>“Ay, marry I have more times than I count years. But +see, here comes one who knows little enough of hunger or love.” +Round the bend of the road came a man in hermit’s dress carrying +a staff and a well-filled wallet. His carriage seemed suddenly +to become less upright, and he leaned heavily on his stick as he besought +an alms from the two travellers.</p> +<p>Hilarius felt for his purse, but Martin stayed him.</p> +<p>“Nay, lad, better have left thy money with the pick-purses +than help to fill the skin of this lazy rogue; ’tis not the first +time we have met. See here,” and with a dexterous jerk he +caught the hermit’s wallet.</p> +<p>This one was too quick for him; with uplifted staff and a mouthful +of oaths, sorely at variance with his habit, he snatched it back, flung +the bag across his shoulder, and made off at a round pace down the road, +while Martin roared after him to wait an alms laid on with a cudgel.</p> +<p>Hilarius gazed horrified from the retreating figure to his laughing +companion, who answered the unspoken question.</p> +<p>“A rascal, lad, yon carrion, and no holy father. They +are the pest of every country-side, these lazy rogues, who never do +a hand’s turn and yet live better than many a squire. I +warrant he has good stuff in that larder of his to make merry with.”</p> +<p>Hilarius walked on for some time in silence with bent head.</p> +<p>“I fear the world is an ill place and far from godliness,” +he said at last.</p> +<p>“It will look thus to one cloister-bred, and ’tis true +enough that godliness is far from most men; but if a hermit’s +robe may cover a rascal, often enough a good heart lies under an ill-favoured +face and tongue. See, lad,” as another turn in the road +brought them in sight of Westminster, “there lies thy new world, +God keep thee in it!”</p> +<p>He pointed to a grey-walled city rising from the water’s edge, +with roof and pinnacle, gable and turret, aflame in the light of the +western sky; in front flowed the river like a stream of molten gold.</p> +<p>Hilarius gave a little cry.</p> +<p>“’Tis like the New Jerusalem!” he said, and Martin +smiled grimly.</p> +<p>An hour later they stood within the walls of Westminster city, and +Hilarius, amazed and weary, clung close to Martin’s side. +Around him he saw russet-clad archers, grooms, men on horseback, pedlars, +pages, falconers, scullions with meats, gallant knights, gaily dressed +ladies; it was like a tangled dream. The gabled fronts of the +houses were richly blazoned or hung with scarlet cloth; it was a shifting +scene of colour, life, and movement, and to Hilarius’ untutored +eyes, wild confusion. Outside the taverns clustered all sorts +and conditions of men, drinking, gossiping, singing, for the day’s +work was done. In the courtyard of the “Black Boar” +a chained bear padded restlessly to and fro, and Hilarius crossed himself +anxiously - was the devil about to beset him under all guises at once? +He raised a fervent <i>Ora pro me</i> to St Benedict as he hurried past. +A string of pack-horses in the narrow street sent folk flying for refuge +to the low dark doorways, and a buxom wench, seeing the pretty lad, +bussed him soundly. This was too much, only the man in him stayed +the indignant tears. “Martin, Martin!” he cried; but +the minstrel was on his own ground now, and was hailed everywhere with +acclamations, and news given and demanded in a breath. Hilarius, +shrinking, aghast, his ears scourged with rough oaths and rude jests, +his eyes offended by the easy manners round him, his cheek hot from +the late salute, took refuge under a low archway, and waited with anxious +heart until the minstrel should have done with the crowd.</p> +<p>Martin did not forget him.</p> +<p>“Holà, lad!” he cried, “see how they welcome +the King’s bird back to his cage! As for thee, thou hast +gone straight to thy cot like a homing pigeon; through that archway, +lad, lies thy journey’s end.” Then, apprehending for +the first time Hilarius’ white face and piteous eyes, Martin strode +across, swept him under the archway into a quiet courtyard where a fountain +rippled, and, having handed him over to Sir John’s steward, left +him with a friendly slap on the back and the promise of speedy meeting.</p> +<p>Hilarius delivered the Prior’s letter, and followed the steward +into a rush-strewn hall where scullions and serving-men were busy with +preparations for the evening meal; and sat there, lonely and dejected, +his curiosity quenched, his heart sore, his whole being crying out for +the busied peace and silent orderliness of his cloister home. +The servants gibed at him, but he was too weary to heed; indeed he hardly +noticed when the household swept in to supper, until a page-boy tweaked +him slyly by the ear and bade him come to table. He ate and drank +thankfully, too dazed to take note of the meal; and the pages and squires +among whom he sat left him alone, abashed at his gentleness. At +last, something restored by the much-needed food, Hilarius looked round +the hall.</p> +<p>It reminded him of the Refectory at home, save that it was far loftier +and heavily timbered. The twilight stealing in through high lancet +windows served but to emphasize the upper gloom, which the morrow’s +sun would dissipate into cunningly carved woodwork - a man’s thought +in every quaintly wrought boss and panel, grotesque beast and guarding +saint. A raised table stood at the upper end of the hall, and +here gaily dressed pages waited on the master of the house and his honoured +guests. Hilarius rightly guessed the tall, careworn man of distinguished +presence to be no other than Sir John himself, and he liked him well; +but his eyes wandered carelessly over the rest of the company until +they were caught and held by a woman’s face. It was Eleanor, +the fairest of the knight’s three fair daughters; and when Hilarius +saw her he felt as a weary traveller feels who meets a fellow citizen +in a far-off land.</p> +<p>“Even such a face must the Blessed Agnes have had,” he +thought, his mind reverting to his favourite Saint; “she is like +the lilies in the garth at home.”</p> +<p>It was a strange comparison, for the girl was extravagantly dressed +in costly materials and brilliant colours, her hair coifed in the foolish +French fashion of the day; and yet, despite it all, she looked a nun. +Her face was pale, her brows set straight; her eyes, save when she was +much moved, were like grey shadows veiling an unknown soul; her mouth, +delicately curved, was scarcely reddened; her head drooped slightly +on her long, slender neck, a gesture instinct with gracious humility. +She was like a pictured saint: Hilarius’ gaze clung to her, followed +her as she left the hall, and saw her still as he sat apart while the +serving men cleared the lower tables and brought in the sleeping gear +for the night. He lay down with the rest, and through the high, +lancet windows the moonlight kissed his white and weary face as it was +wont to do on bright nights in the cloister dormitory. Around +him men lay sleeping soundly after the day’s toils; there was +none to heed, and he sobbed like a little homesick child, until his +tired youth triumphed, and he fell asleep, to dream of Martin and the +Prior, the lady at the raised table, and the pale, sweet lilies in the +cloister garth.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PART II - THE FLOWER</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I - THE CITY OF PURE GOLD</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>“Blind eyes, blind eyes!” sang the dancer.</p> +<p>Hilarius woke with a start. He had fallen asleep on a bench +in the sunny courtyard and his dream had carried him back to the forest. +He sat rubbing his eyes and only half-awake, the sun kissing his hair +into a halo against the old grey wall. A falcon near fretted restlessly +on her perch, and a hound asleep by the fountain rose, and, slowly stretching +its great limbs, came towards him.</p> +<p>It was four o’clock on a warm day in September; the courtyard +was deserted save for a few busied serving men, and the knight and his +household, were at a tilting in the Outer Bailey, all but the Lady Eleanor, +Hilarius’ mistress, for, as Martin had foreseen, Sir John had +so appointed it.</p> +<p>It was now two months since Hilarius had come to the city which had +seemed to him in the distance as the New Jerusalem full of promise; +but he had found no angels at the gates, nor were the streets full of +the righteous; nay, the place seemed nearer of kin to the Babylon of +Blessed John’s Vision - with a few holy ones who would surely +be caught up ere judgment fell, amongst them Sir John and Lady Eleanor.</p> +<p>A good knight and a God-fearing man was Sir John, tender to his children, +gentle with his people, a faithful servant to God and King Edward; shrewd +withal, and an apt reader of men. Therefore, and because of the +love he bore to Prior Stephen, he set Hilarius to attend his eldest +daughter, who seemed to belong as little to this world as the lad himself; +and felt that in so doing he had achieved the best possible for his +old friend, according to his asking.</p> +<p>Hilarius for his part served the Lady Eleanor as an acolyte tends +the chapel of a saint, only she was further removed from him than a +saint, by reason of her pale humanity. He soon perceived, as he +watched her at banquet, tourney, or pageant, that she went to a revel +as to the Sacrament, and sat at a mummers’ show with eyes fixed +on the Unseen. She moved through the gay vivid world of Court +gallants and joyous maidens like a shadow, and the rout grew graver +at her coming.</p> +<p>It was much the same with her lover, Guy de Steyning - brother of +that Hugh de Steyning men wot of as Brother Ambrosius - a gentle knight +with mild blue eyes, a peaked red beard, and great fervour for heavenly +things. The pair liked one another well; but their time was taken +up with preparation for Paradise rather than with earthly business, +and their speech lent itself more readily to devout phrases than to +lovers’ vows. It was small wonder, therefore, that another +year saw them both by glad consent in the cloister, he at Oxford, and +Eleanor in the Benedictine House of which her aunt was Prioress.</p> +<p>Hilarius had written of his saintly mistress to Prior Stephen just +as he had written of the wondrous beauty of St Peter’s Abbey: +“With all its straight, slender, upstanding pillars, methinks +’tis like the forest at home” (forgetting that his more +intimate knowledge of the forest partook of the nature of sin). +“The Lady Eleanor, my honoured mistress,” he wrote, “is +a most saintly and devout maiden, full of heavenly lore, and caring +nought for the things of this world;” and he added, “’tis +beautiful to see such devotion where for the most part are sinful and +light-minded persons.”</p> +<p>The Prior laid the script aside with a smile and a sigh; and when +Brother Bernard asked news of the lad, answered a little sadly, “Nay, +Brother, he still sleeps;” and indeed there seemed no waking him +to a world of men - living, striving, sorely-tried men.</p> +<p>He dwelt in a land of his own making - a land of colour and light +and shadow in which much that he saw played a part; only the gorgeous +pageants turned to hosts of triumphant saints heralded by angels; while +the knights at a tourney in their brave armour pictured St George, St +Michael, or St Martin in his dreams.</p> +<p>It was a limner he longed to be, far away from the stir and stress, +not a page attending a great lady to the Court functions. He yearned +ever after the Scriptorium, with its busied monks and stores of colour +and gold. It lay but a stone’s throw away behind the jealous +Monastery walls, but it was no part of Prior Stephen’s plan that +the lad should go straight from one cloister to another.</p> +<p>To Hilarius sitting on the bench in the sun, came one of Eleanor’s +tirewomen to bid him wait on her mistress. He rose at once and +followed her through the hall and up the winding stair, along a gallery +hung with wondrous story-telling tapestry, to the bower where Eleanor +sat with two of her women busied with their needle.</p> +<p>Hilarius found his mistress, her hands idle on her knee. He +louted low, and she bade him bring a stool and sit beside her.</p> +<p>“I am weary,” she said; “this life is weariness. +Tell me of the Monastery and the forest - stay, tell me rather of the +New Jerusalem that Brother Ambrose saw and limned.’</p> +<p>Hilarius, nothing loth, settled himself at her feet, elbow on knee, +and chin on his open hands, his dreamy blue eyes gazing away out of +the window at the cloud-flecked sky above the Abbey pinnacles.</p> +<p>“The Brother Ambrose,” he began, “was ever a saintly +man, approved of God and beloved by the Brethren; ay, and a crafty limner, +save that of late his eyesight failed him. To him one night, as +he lay a-bed in the dormitory, came the word of the Lord, saying: “Come, +and I will show thee the Bride, the Lamb’s wife.” +And Brother Ambrose arose and was carried to a great and high mountain, +even as in the Vision of Blessed John. ’Twas a still night +of many stars, and Brother Ambrose, looking up, saw a radiant path in +the heavens; and lo! the stars gathered themselves together on either +side until they stood as walls of light, and the four winds lapped him +about as in a mantle and bore him towards the wondrous gleaming roadway. +Then between the stars came the Holy City with roof and pinnacle aflame, +and walls aglow with such colours as no earthly limner dreams of, and +much gold. Brother Ambrose beheld the Gates of Pearl, and by every +gate an angel, with wings of snow and fire, and a face no man dare look +on, because of its exceeding radiance.</p> +<p>“Then as Brother Ambrose stretched out his arms because of +his great longing, a little grey cloud came out of the north and hung +between the walls of light, so that he no longer beheld the Vision, +but heard only a sound as of a great multitude crying, ‘Alleluia’; +and suddenly the winds came about him again, and lo! he found himself +in bed in the dormitory, and it was midnight, for the bell was ringing +to Matins; and he rose and went down with the rest; but when the Brethren +left the choir, Brother Ambrose stayed fast in his place, hearing and +seeing nothing because of the Vision of God; and at Lauds they found +him and told the Prior.</p> +<p>“He questioned Brother Ambrose of the matter, and when he heard +the Vision, bade him limn the Holy City even as he had seen it; and +the Precentor gave him uterine vellum and much fine gold and what colours +he asked for the work. Then Brother Ambrose limned a wondrous +fair city of gold with turrets and spires; and he inlaid blue for the +sapphire, and green for the emerald, and vermilion where the city seemed +aflame with the glory of God; but the angels he could not limn, nor +could he set the rest of the colours as he saw them, nor the wall of +stars on either hand; and Brother Ambrose fell sick because of the exceeding +great longing he had to limn the Holy City, and was very sad; but our +Prior bade him thank God and remember the infirmity of the flesh, which, +like the little grey cloud, veiled Jerusalem to his sight.”</p> +<p>There was silence. Lady Eleanor clasped her shadowy blue-veined +hands under her chin, and in her eyes too was a great longing.</p> +<p>“It seemeth to me small wonder that Brother Ambrose fell sick,” +she said, at length.</p> +<p>Hilarius nodded:</p> +<p>“He had ever a patient, wistful look as of one from home; and +often he would sit musing in the cloister and scarce give heed to the +Office bell.”</p> +<p>“Methinks, Hilarius, it will be passing sweet to dwell in that +Holy City.”</p> +<p>“Nay, lady,” said her page tenderly, “surely thou +hast had a vision even as Brother Ambrose, for thine eyes wait always, +like unto his.”</p> +<p>Eleanor shook her head, and two tears crept slowly from the shadow +of her eyes.</p> +<p>“Nay, not to such as I am is the vision vouchsafed; though +my desire is great, ’tis ever clogged by sin; and for this same +reason I would get me to a cloister where I might fast and pray unhindered.”</p> +<p>Hilarius looked at her with great compassion.</p> +<p>“Sweet lady, the Lord fulfil all thy desires; yet, methinks, +thou art already as one of His saints.”</p> +<p>“Nay, but a poor sinner in an evil world,” she answered. +“Sing to me, Hilarius.”</p> +<p>And he sang her the <i>Salve Regina</i>, and when it was ended she +bade him go, for she would fain spend some time in prayer upon her primer.</p> +<p>“Our Lady and all Saints be with thee, sweet mistress!” +he said, and left her to sob out once more the sins and sorrows of her +tender childlike heart.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II - THE CITY THAT HILARIUS SAW</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Hilarius went back to the courtyard, his soul full of trouble. +He leant against the fountain, playing with the cool water which fell +with monotonous rhythm into the shallow timeworn basin. The cloudless +sky smiled back at him from the broken mirror into which he gazed, and +the glory of its untroubled blue thrilled him strangely. He too +had a vision which he longed to limn; but it was of earth, not Heaven, +like that vouchsafed to Brother Ambrose; and yet none the less precious, +for was it not the Monastery at home which so haunted him, the grey, +familiar walls with their girdle of sunlit pasture, and the mantling +forest which bowed and swayed at the will of the whispering wind?</p> +<p>“As well seek Heaven’s gate in yon fair reflection as +learn to love in this light-minded, deceitful city,” Hilarius +said to himself a little bitterly. He deemed that he had plumbed +its hollowness and learnt the full measure of its vanity. Already +he shunned the company and diversions of his fellow pages, though he +was ever ready to serve them. A prentice lad’s homely brawl +set him shivering; a woman’s jest painted his cheeks ’til +they rivalled a young maid’s at her first wooing. He plucked +aside his skirts and walked in judgment; only wherever mountebank or +juggler held the crowd enthralled, there Hilarius, half-ashamed, would +push his way, in the unacknowledged hope of seeing again the maid whose +mother, like his own, was light o’ love: a strange link truly +to bind Hilarius in his blindness to the rest of poor sinful humanity.</p> +<p>Suddenly there broke on his musing the clatter of horse-hoofs, and +a gay young page came spurring with bent head under the low archway. +He reined up by Hilarius:</p> +<p>“Dear lad, kind lad, wilt thou do me a service?”</p> +<p>“That will I, Hal, an it be in my power.”</p> +<p>“Take this purse, then, to the Cock Tavern and give it mine +host. ’Tis Luke Langland’s reckoning; he left it with +me yesternight, but my head was full of feast and tourney, and ’tis +yet undelivered. Mine host will not let the serving men and the +two horses go ’til he hath seen Luke’s money, and I cannot +stay, for my lord will need me.”</p> +<p>Hilarius took the purse; and his fellow page, blessing him for a +good comrade, clattered back through the gateway.</p> +<p>The streets were full of life and colour; serving men in the livery +of Abbat and Knight, King and Cardinal, lounged at the tavern doors +dicing, gaming, and drinking. Hilarius walked delicately and strove +to shut eyes and ears to the sights and sounds of sin. He delivered +the purse, only to hear mine host curse roundly because it was lighter +than the reckoning; and after being hustled and jeered at for a milk-faced +varlet by the men who stood drinking, he sought with scarlet cheeks +for a less frequented way.</p> +<p>The quiet of a narrow street invited him; he turned aside, and suddenly +traffic and turmoil died away. He was in a city within a city; +a place of mean tenements, wretched hovels, ruined houses, and, keeping +guard over them all, a grim square tower, blind save for two windowed +eyes. Men, ill-favoured, hang-dog, or care-worn, stood about the +house doors silent and moody; a white-faced woman crossing the street +with a bucket gave no greeting; the very children rolling in the foul +gutters neither laughed nor chattered nor played. The city without +seemed very far from this dismal sordid place.</p> +<p>Hilarius felt a touch on his shoulder, and a kindly voice said:-</p> +<p>“How now, young sir, for what crime dost thou take sanctuary?”</p> +<p>He looked up and saw an old man in the black dress of an ecclesiastic, +the keys of St Peter broidered on his arm.</p> +<p>“Sanctuary,” stammered Hilarius, “nay, good sir, +I - ”</p> +<p>The other laughed.</p> +<p>“Wert thou star-gazing, then, that thou could’st stray +into these precincts and know it not? This is the City of Refuge +to which a man may flee when he has robbed or murdered his fellow, or +been guilty of treason, seditious talk, or slander - a strange place +in which to see such a face as thine.”</p> +<p>“I did but seek a quiet way home and lost the turning,” +said Hilarius; “in sooth, ’tis a fearful place.”</p> +<p>“Ay, boy, ’tis a place of darkness and despair, despite +its safety - even the King’s arm falls short when a man is in +these precincts: but from himself and the knowledge of his crime, a +man cannot flee; hence I say ’tis a place of darkness and despair.”</p> +<p>The unspoken question shone in Hilarius’ eyes, and the other +answered it.</p> +<p>“Nay, there is no blood on my soul, young sir. ’Twas +good advice I gave, well meant but ill received, so here I dwell to +learn the wisdom of fools and the foolishness of wisdom.”</p> +<p>“Does the Abbat know what evil men these are that seek the +shelter of Holy Church?” asked Hilarius, perplexed.</p> +<p>“Most surely he knows; but what would’st thou have? +It hath ever been the part of the Church to embrace sinners with open +arms lest they repent. A man leaves wrath behind him when he flees +hither; but should he set foot in the city without, he is the law’s, +and no man may gainsay it.”</p> +<p>“Nay, sir, but these look far from repentance,” said +Hilarius.</p> +<p>“Ay, ay, true eno’,” rejoined the other cheerfully, +“but then ’tis not for nothing Mother Church holds the keys. +Man’s law may fail to reach, but there is ever hell-fire for the +unrepented sinner.”</p> +<p>Hilarius nodded, and his eyes wandered over the squalid place with +the North Porch of the Abbey for its sole beauty.</p> +<p>“It must be as hell here, to live with robbers and men with +bloody hands.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” said the old man hastily, “many of them +are kindly folk, and many have slain in anger without thought. +’Tis a sad place, though, and thy young face is like a sunbeam +on a winter’s day. Come, I will show thee thy road.”</p> +<p>He led Hilarius through the winding alleys and set him once more +on the edge of the city’s stir and hum.</p> +<p>“I can no further,” he said. “Farewell, young +sir, and God keep thee! An old man’s blessing ne’er +harmed any one.”</p> +<p>Hilarius gave him godden, and sped swiftly back through the streets +crowded with folks returning from the tourney. The Abbey bell +rang out above the shouts and din.</p> +<p>“’Tis an evil, evil world,” quoth young Hilarius.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III - A SENDING FROM THE LORD</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>October and November came and sped, and Hilarius’ longing to +be a limner waxed with the waning year. One day by the waterside +he met Martin, of whom he saw now much, now little, for the Minstrel +followed the Court.</p> +<p>“The cage grows too small for me, lad,” he said, as he +stood with Hilarius watching the sun sink below the Surrey uplands; +“ay, and I love one woman, which is ill for a man of my trade. +I must be away to my mistress, winter or no winter, else my song will +die and my heart break.”</p> +<p>“’Tis even so with me, good Martin,” said Hilarius +sadly; “I too would fain go forth and serve my mistress; but the +cage door is barred, and I may not open it from within.”</p> +<p>Martin whistled and smote the lad friendly on the shoulder.</p> +<p>“Patience, lad, patience, thou art young yet. Eighteen +this Martinmas, say you? In truth ’tis a great age, but +still leaves time and to spare. ‘<i>All things come to a +waiting man</i>,’ saith the proverb.”</p> +<p>A week later he chanced on Hilarius sitting on a bench under the +south wall of the farmery cloister. It was a mild, melancholy +day, and suited the Minstrel’s mood.</p> +<p>He sat down by him and told of King and Court; then when Hilarius +had once more cried his longing, he said gravely:-</p> +<p>“One comes who will open more cage doors than thine and mine, +lad - and yet earn no welcome.”</p> +<p>Hilarius looked at him questioningly.</p> +<p>“Lad, hast thou ever seen Death?”</p> +<p>“Nay, good Martin.”</p> +<p>“It comes, lad, it comes; or I am greatly at fault. I +saw the Plague once in Flanders, and fled against the wind, and so came +out with a clean skin; now I am like to see it again; for it has landed +in the south, and creeps this way. Mark my words, lad, thou wilt +know Death ere the winter is out, and such as God keep thee from.”</p> +<p>Hilarius understood little of these words but the sound of them, +and turned to speak of other things.</p> +<p>Martin looked at him gloomily.</p> +<p>“Best get back to the cloister and Prior Stephen, lad.”</p> +<p>“Nay, good Martin, that may not be; but I have still a letter +for the Abbat of St Alban’s, and would hasten thither if Sir John +would set me free. Methinks I am a slow scholar,” went on +poor Hilarius ruefully, “for I have not yet gone hungry - and +as for love, methinks there are few folk to love in this wicked city.”</p> +<p>Martin laughed and then grew grave again.</p> +<p>“Maybe he comes who will teach thee both, and yet I would fain +find thee a kinder master. Well, well, lad, get thee to St Alban’s +an it be possible; thou art best in a cloister, methinks, for all thy +wise Prior Stephen may say.”</p> +<p>And he went off singing -</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“Three felons hung from a roadside tree,<br />One black and +one white and one grey;<br />And the ravens plucked their eyes away<br />From +one and two and three,<br />That honest men might see<br />And thievish +knaves should pay;<br />Lest these might be<br />As blind as they.<br />Ah, +well-a-day, well-a-day!<br />One - two - three! On the gallows-tree +hung they.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Hilarius listened with a smile until the last notes of Martin’s +voice had died away, and then fell a-musing of hunger and love, the +dancer and the Prior.</p> +<p>Suddenly, as if his thought had taken speech, he heard a voice say:</p> +<p>“I hunger, I hunger, feed me most sweet Manna, for I hunger +- I hunger, and I love.”</p> +<p>He sprang to his feet, but there was no one in sight. Again +the shrill quavering voice called:</p> +<p>“Love of God, I hunger, Love of God, I die. Blessed Peter, +pray for me! Blessed Michael, defend me!”</p> +<p>Hilarius knew now; it was the Ankret, that holy man who for sixty +years had fasted and prayed in his living tomb at the corner of the +cloister. He was held a saint above all the ankrets before him, +and wondrous wise; the King himself had sought his counsel, and the +Convent held him in high esteem.</p> +<p>Again the voice: Hilarius strove to reach up to the grated window +of the cell - it was too high above him. An overpowering desire +came upon him to ask the Ankret of his future. With a spring he +caught at the window’s upright bars; his cap flew off and he hung +bare-headed, the sun behind him, gazing into the cell.</p> +<p>On his knees was an old man whose long white hair lay in matted locks +upon his shoulders, and whose beard fell far below his girdle. +The skin of his face was like grey parchment, and his deep-set eyes +glowed strangely in their hollow cavities.</p> +<p>Hilarius strove to speak, but words failed him.</p> +<p>The Ankret looking up saw the beautiful face at his window with its +aureole of yellow hair, and stretched out his bony withered hands.</p> +<p>“Blessed Michael, Blessed Michael, the messenger of the Lord!” +he cried, gaining strength from the vision.</p> +<p>“What would’st thou, Father!” said Hilarius, afraid.</p> +<p>“Nay, who am I that I should speak? and yet, and yet - ” +the old man’s voice grew weaker - “the Bread of Heaven, +that I may die in peace.”</p> +<p>He stretched out his hands again entreatingly, and Hilarius was sore +perplexed.</p> +<p>“Dost thou crave speech of the Abbat, my Father?”</p> +<p>The Ankret looked troubled.</p> +<p>“Blessed Michael, Blessed Michael!” he murmured entreatingly.</p> +<p>Hilarius’ hands hurt him sore; it was clear that the holy man +saw some wondrous vision, and ’twas no gain time to speech of +him.</p> +<p>“Blessed Michael, Blessed Michael!” quavered the old, +tired voice.</p> +<p>Hilarius felt himself slipping; with a great effort he held fast +and braced himself against the wall</p> +<p>“Blessed Michael, Blessed Michael!” - The appeal in the +half-dead face was awful.</p> +<p>Hilarius’ grip failed; he slid to the ground bruised and sore +from the unaccustomed strain, but well pleased. True, he had gained +no counsel from the Ankret, but he had seen the holy man - ay, even +when he was visited by a heavenly messenger, and that in itself should +bring a blessing. He turned to go, when a sudden thought came +to him. There was no one in sight, no sound but the failing cry +from the tired old saint. Hilarius doffed his cap again and his +fresh young voice rose clear and sweet through the thin still air:-</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“Iesu, dulcis memoria,<br />Dans vera cordis gaudia;<br />Sed +super mel et omnia<br />Dulcis ejus praesentia.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>At the fourth stanza his memory failed him; but he could hear the +Ankret crooning to himself the words he had sung, and crying softly +like a little child.</p> +<p>Hilarius went home with wonder in his heart, but said no word of +what had befallen him; and that night the Ankret died, and the Sub-Prior +gave him the last sacraments.</p> +<p>Next day it was known that a vision had been vouchsafed the holy +man before his end; and that the Prince of Angels himself had brought +his message of release: and Hilarius, greatly content to think that +the Blessed Michael had indeed been so near him, kept his own counsel.</p> +<p>He told Lady Eleanor of Martin’s words.</p> +<p>“God save the King!” she said, and went into her oratory +to pray: and there was need of prayer, for the Minstrel’s foreboding +was no idle one. Ere London knew it the Plague was at her gates; +yet the King, undeterred, came to spend Christmas at Westminster; but +Martin was not in his train. Men’s mirth waxed hot by reason +of the terror they would not recognise. Banquet and revel, allegory +and miracle play; pageant of beautiful women and brave men; junketing, +ay, and rioting - thus they flung a defiance at the enemy; and then +fled: for across the clash of the feast bells sounded the mournful note +of funeral dirge and requiem.</p> +<p>Eleanor, knowing Hilarius’ ardent longing for school and master, +prayed her father to set him on the way to St Alban’s instead +of keeping him with them to follow a fugitive Court. The good +knight, feeling one page more or less mattered little when Death was +so ready to serve, and anxious for the lad’s safety and well-being, +assented gladly enough. So it came to pass that on the Feast of +the Three Kings Hilarius found himself on the Watling Street Way, a +well-filled purse in his pocket, but a fearful heart under his jerkin; +for the Death he had never seen loomed large, a great king, and by all +accounts a most mighty hunter.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV - BLIND EYES WHICH COULD SEE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It is, for the most part, the moneyed man who flees from the face +of Death; the poor man awaits him quietly, with patient indifference, +in the field or under his own roof-tree; ay, and often flings the door +wide for the guest, or hastens his coming. Thus it came to pass +that while the stricken poor agonised in the grip of unknown horror, +bishop and merchant, prince and chapman, fine ladies in gorgeous litters, +abbesses with their train of nuns, and many more, fled north, east, +and west, from the pestilent cities, and encumbered the roads with much +traffic. One procession, and one only, did Hilarius meet making +its way to London.</p> +<p>It was a keen frosty day; there had been little previous rain or +snow, and the roads were dry; the trees in the hedgerows, bare and stricken +skeletons, stood out sharp and black against a cold grey sky. +Suddenly the sound of a mournful chant smote upon the still air, music +and words alike strange. The singers came slowly up the roadway, +men of foreign aspect walking with bent heads, their dark, matted locks +almost hiding their wild, fixed eyes and thin, haggard faces. +They were stripped to the waist, their backs torn and bleeding, and +carried each a bloody scourge wherewith to strike his fellow. +At the third step they signed the sign of the Cross with their prostrate +bodies on the ground; and thus in blood and penitence they went towards +London.</p> +<p>Hilarius was familiar with the exercise but not the manner of it. +These strange, wild men filled him with horror, and he shrank back with +the rest. Then a man sprang from among the watching crowd, tore +off jerkin and shirt, and flung up his arms to heaven with a great sob.</p> +<p>“I left wife and children to perish alone,” he cried, +“and fled to save my miserable skin. Now may God have mercy +on my soul, for I go back. Smite, and smite hard, brother!” +and he stepped in front of the first flagellant.</p> +<p>At this there arose a cry from the folk that looked on, and many +fell on their knees and confessed their sins, accusing themselves with +groanings and tears; but Hilarius, seized with sudden terror, turned +and fled blindly, without thought of direction, his eyes wide, the blood +drumming in his ears, a great horror at his heels - a horror that could +drive a man from wife and child, that had driven brave Martin to flee +against the wind, and all this folk to leave house and home to save +that which most men count dearer than either.</p> +<p>At last, exhausted and panting, he stayed to rest, and saw, coming +towards him, a blind friar. Hilarius had turned into a by-way +in the hurry of his terror, and they two were alone. The friar +was a small, mean-looking man, feeling his way by the aid of hand and +staff; his face upturned, craving the light. He stopped when he +came up with Hilarius, and turned his sightless eyes on him; a fire +burnt in the dead ashes.</p> +<p>“Art thou that son of Christ waiting to guide my steps, as +the Lord promised me?”</p> +<p>Hilarius started back, afraid at the strange address; but the friar +laid one lean hand on his arm, and, letting the staff slip back against +his shoulder, felt Hilarius’ face, not with the light and practised +touch of the blind, but slowly and carefully, frowning the while.</p> +<p>“Son, thou wilt come with me?”</p> +<p>“Nay, good Father, I may not; I am for St Alban’s.”</p> +<p>“Whence, my son?”</p> +<p>“From Westminster, good Father.”</p> +<p>“Nay, then, thou mayest spare shoe-leather. I left the +Monastery but now, and, I warrant thee, they promise small welcome to +those from the pestilent cities. What would’st thou with +the Abbat?”</p> +<p>Hilarius told him.</p> +<p>The friar flung up his hands.</p> +<p>“<i>Laus Deo! Laus Deo</i>!” he cried, “now +I know thou art in very truth the lad of my dream. Listen, my +son, and I will tell thee all. Thrice has the vision come to me; +I see the mother who bore me carried away, struggling and cursing, by +men in black apparel, and Hell is near at hand, belching out smoke and +flame, and many hideous devils; yet the place is little Bungay, where +my mother hath a cot by the river. When first the dream came I +lay at Mechlin in the Monastery there; my flesh quaked and my hair stood +up by reason of the awfulness of the vision; then as I mused and prayed +I saw in it the call of the Lord, that I might wrestle with Satan for +my mother’s soul, for she was ever inclined to evil arts and spells, +and thought little of aught save gain.</p> +<p>“Forthwith I suffered no man to stay me, and set off, the Plague +at my heels; but ever out-stripping it, I was careful to preach its +coming in every place, that men might turn and repent. Then as +I tarried on the seaboard for a ship the Plague came; and because I +had preached its coming, the people rose in wrath, and, falling upon +me, roughly handled me. They beat me full sore in the market-place; +then, piercing my eyeballs, set me adrift in a small boat.</p> +<p>“Two days and two nights I lay at the mercy of the sea, darkness +and light alike to me, and with no thought of time; for the flames of +hell burnt in my eyes, and a worse anguish in my heart because of my +mother’s soul.”</p> +<p>“And then, and then?” tried Hilarius breathlessly, tears +of pure pity in his eyes.</p> +<p>“Then the Lord cared for me even as He cared for the Prophet +Jonas, and sent a ship that His message might not be hindered. +The shipmen were kindly folk, but we were driven out of our course by +a great wind, and at last came ashore in Lincolnshire. I have +come south thus far by the aid of Christian men, but time presses; and +now, lo! thou art here to guide me.”</p> +<p>“But, my Father,” said poor Hilarius, seeing yet another +barrier in the way of his desires, “’tis a limner I would +be; and I am from Westminster, not London, and then there is Prior Stephen’s +letter - ”</p> +<p> The friar held up his hand:</p> +<p>“Thou shalt be a limner, my son, the Lord hath revealed it +to me. Last night the vision came again, and a voice cried: ‘Speed, +for a son of Christ waits by the way to guide thy steps,’ and +lo! thou art here, waiting by the way, as the voice said. And +now, son, an thou wilt come thou shalt take thy letter to Wymondham +- ’tis a cell of this Abbey - for there is Brother Andreas from +overseas who hath wondrous skill with the brush; he will teach thee, +for thou shalt say to him that Brother Amadeus sent thee, who is now +as Bartimeus, waiting for the light of the Lord; but first thou shalt +set me in that village of Bungay, where my mother dwelleth.”</p> +<p>Hilarius listened, gazing awestruck at the withered eyes that vainly +questioned his face. He had forgotten plague, death, flagellants, +in this absorbing tale of the man of God, who was even as one of the +blessed martyrs. Brother Andreas! A skilled limner! +How should he, Hilarius, gainsay one with a vision from the Lord?</p> +<p>“I obey, my Father,” he cried joyously, taking the friar’s +hand; and they two passed swiftly down the road, their faces to the +east.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V - THE WHITE WAY AND WHERE IT LED</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It was a bitterly cold night and St Agnes’ Eve; the snow fell +heavily, caught into whirling eddies by the keen north wind. Hilarius +and the Friar, crossing an empty waste of bleak unprotected heath, met +the full force of the blast, and each moment the snow grew denser, the +darkness more complete. They struggled on, breathless, beaten, +exhausted and lost; Hilarius, leading the Friar by one hand, held the +other across his bent head to shield himself from the buffets of the +wind.</p> +<p>Suddenly he stood fast.</p> +<p>“I can no more, Father,” he said, “the snow is +as a wall; there is naught to see or to hear; I deem we are far from +our right way.” His voice was very weak, and he caught at +the Friar for support.</p> +<p>“I will pray the Lord, my son, that He open thine eyes, even +as He opened the eyes of the prophet’s servant in the besieged +city; so shalt thou see a host of angels encompassing us, for we are +about the Lord’s business.”</p> +<p>“Nay, my Father,” said Hilarius feebly, “I see +no angels, and I perish.” He tottered, and would have fallen, +but the Friar caught him in his arms. A moment he stood irresolute, +the boy on his breast, then flung away his staff and lifted him to his +shoulder.</p> +<p>With unerring, confident step he went forward through the snow, a +white figure bearing a white burden in a white world. All at once +the wind dropped, the blinding shower ceased, and Hilarius, rested and +comforted, spoke:-</p> +<p>“Is it thou, my Father?”</p> +<p>“It is I, my son, but angels are on either hand and go before +to guide. The snow hath ceased, canst thou walk?”</p> +<p>He set Hilarius gently on his feet, and lo! he found the stars alight!</p> +<p>The boy gave a cry, and forgetting his companion’s darkness, +pointed to the left where lay a snow-clad village.</p> +<p>“A miracle, a miracle, my Father!”</p> +<p>“A miracle, i’ faith, my son: the Lord hath given guidance +to the blind as He promised. Let us go down.”</p> +<p>They went by the white way under the stars; and Hilarius was full +of awe and comfort because of the angels of God which attended on a +poor friar.</p> +<p>At the village hostel they found rough but friendly entertainment +and several guests. They dried themselves at a roaring fire, and +Hilarius made a hearty meal; the Friar would eat nothing save a morsel +of bread.</p> +<p>A messenger was there, a short stout man with stubbly beard, bright +black eyes like beads, and a high colour. He was riding with despatches +from the King to the Abbat at Bury, and had fearful tales to tell of +the Plague; how in London they piled the dead in trenches, while many +who escaped the pest died of want and cold; it was a city of the dead +rather than the living. One great lord, travelling post-haste +from Westminster, had been found by his servants to have the disorder, +and they fled, leaving him by the wayside to perish.</p> +<p>Hilarius heard horror-struck.</p> +<p>“’Tis a grievous shame so to desert a sick master,” +he said.</p> +<p>“Nay, lad,” said a chapman in the corner, “but +a man loves his own skin best.”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” said a fat ruddy-faced miller, overtaken by +the storm on his way to a neighbouring village, “a man’s +own skin before all. Fill your belly first and your neighbour’s +afterwards. Live and let live.”</p> +<p>“Ay, let live,” chimed in mine host, bustling in with +a stoop of cider for the chapman, “but, by the Rood, ’tis +cruel work when two lone women are murdered for a bit of mouldy bacon +and a lump of bread; for I’se warrant ’tis a long day sin’ +they had more than that at best.”</p> +<p>The chapman took his cider.</p> +<p>“Where was this work done?” he said.</p> +<p>“Nay, where but here on the bruary! The women were found +Wednesday se’n-night by the herd as he went folding. They +lay on the floor in their blood.”</p> +<p>Hilarius turned sick. In Westminster, by some miracle, he had +been spared the sight of violent death - ay, or of death in any form +- and had seen nothing worse than a rogue in the stocks, for which sight +he had thanked Heaven piously.</p> +<p>“’Tis the fault of the rich,” said a voice, and +Hilarius saw, to his surprise, that there was a second friar in the +room; a tall, bullet-headed man, with a heavy, obstinate jaw ornamented +with a scanty fringe of black hair.</p> +<p>“The rich grow fat, and the poor starve,” he went on, +“’tis hunger makes a man kill his brother for a mouthful +of mouldy bacon.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” said the miller, “there was no need to kill, +Father. A man could have taken the meat from two lone women and +left them their lives.”</p> +<p>“Why take from folk as poor as themselves?” said mine +host. “Let them rob the rich an they must rob.”</p> +<p>“Ay,” said the friar, “rob the rich, say you, take +their own, say I. God did not make this world that one man should +be over full and another go empty; nor is it religion that the monks’ +should live on the fat o’ the land and grind the faces of the +poor. How many manors, think you, has the Abbat of St Edmund’s, +and how many on his land lack bread?”</p> +<p>Hilarius listened, scarlet with indignation, a flood of wrathful +defence pent at his lips, for the blind friar laid a restraining hand +on his sleeve.</p> +<p>Mine host scratched his head doubtfully. The teaching was seditious, +and made a man liable to stocks and pillory; but it tickled the ears +of the common folk and ’twas ill to quarrel with the Mendicants. +Help came to him in his perplexity: a loud knocking on the barred door +made the guests within start.</p> +<p>“’Tis eight o’ the clock,” said the miller, +affrighted, for he had a heavy purse on him.</p> +<p>“Let them knock and cool their hot heads,” said the seditious +friar composedly.</p> +<p>The rest nodded approval.</p> +<p>Then a man’s voice threatened without.</p> +<p>“What ho! unbar the door. Is this a night to keep a man +without? Open, open, or, by the Mass, thou shalt smart for it.”</p> +<p>Mine host shook his head fearfully, and his fat cheeks trembled; +he moved slowly and unwillingly to the door and took down the stout +wooden bar. As it swung back the door flew open, and a man burst +in, at sight of whom mine host turned yet paler.</p> +<p>“Food and drink,” said the new-comer sharply, flinging +himself on a bench by the fire.</p> +<p>Hilarius thought he had never seen so strange a fellow. His +hair was close cropped; ay, and his ears also. His eyes were very +small and near together; his nose a shapeless lump; his lip drawn up +showed two rat-like teeth. Silence fell on the company, and the +chapman who had been searching amongst his goods for something wherewith +to pay his hospitality, was hastily putting them back, when the man, +looking up, caught sight of a bundle of oaten pipes among the miscellaneous +wares. He plucked one to him, and in a moment the air was full +of tender liquid notes - a thrush’s roundelay. Then a blackbird +called and his mate answered; a cuckoo cried the spring-song; a linnet +mourned with lifting cadence; a nightingale poured forth her deathless +love.</p> +<p>Mine host came in with a dish piled high and a stoop of mead; the +man threw the pipe from him with a rough oath and fell to ravenously +on the victuals. He held his head low and ate brutishly amid dead +silence; then he looked up and cursed at them for their sorry mood.</p> +<p>“What! Hugh pipes and never a word of thanks nor a jest? +Damn you all for dull dogs!”</p> +<p>The blind friar rose and fixed his withered eyes on the man’s +dreadful face.</p> +<p>“Piping Hugh of Mildenhall,” he said, and at his voice +the man leapt to his feet and thrust his arm out as if for protection. +“Piping Hugh of Mildenhall,” said the Friar again, “I +have a message for thee from the Lord God. I cried thee damned +in my own name once, when thou did’st take my little sister to +shame and death; now I cry thee thrice damned in the name of the Lord, +for the cup of thine iniquity is full and thy hands red with blood. +Man hath branded thee; now God will set His mark on thee and all men +shall see it. The Plague will come and come swiftly, but it shall +not touch thee; many shall die in their sins; thou shalt live on with +thine. A brute thou art, and with brutes thou shalt herd; thou +shalt howl as a ravening wolf, and as such men shall hunt thee from +their doors. Thou shalt seek death, even as Cain sought and found +it not, because of the mark of the Lord. Thou art damned, thrice +damned; thy speech shall go from thee, thy sight fail thee, thy mind +be darkened; thou art given over to the Evil One, and he shall torment +thee with remembrance.”</p> +<p>There was dead silence; then with a long shrill howl the man tore +open the door, dashed from the house, and fled, a black blotch upon +the whiteness of the night.</p> +<p>The guests huddled together aghast, and no man moved, until Hilarius, +full of pride at his Friar’s powers, stepped forward to close +the door. He was too late; it swung to with a loud crash like +the sound of doom. The Friar sank back composedly on the bench, +and the company began in silence to make preparation for the night. +When all was ordered, Hilarius bade the Friar come, and he rose at the +lad’s voice and touch. Then he crossed to where the others +stood apart eyeing him fearfully.</p> +<p>He laid his hand on the miller’s breast and said in a clear, +low voice: “Thou wilt die, brother.”</p> +<p>He laid his hand on the messenger’s breast: “Thou wilt +die, brother.”</p> +<p>He laid his hand on the chapman’s breast: “Thou wilt +die, brother.”</p> +<p>He laid his hand on mine host’s breast: “Thou wilt die, +brother.”</p> +<p>Then he came to the other Friar who stood at a little distance, his +face dark with anger and fear, and laid his hand on his breast: “Thou +wilt live, my brother - and repent.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VI - A DARK FINDING</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It is a far cry from St Alban’s to Bungay - which village of +the good ford lies somewhat south-east of Norwich, five leagues distant +- and the journey is doubled in the winter time. Hilarius and +the Friar were long on the road, for January’s turbulent mood +had imprisoned them many days, and early February had proved little +kinder. They had companied with folk, light women and brutal men; +but, for the most part, coarse word and foul jest were hushed in the +presence of the blind friar and the lad with the wondering eyes. +In every village the Friar preached and called on men to repent and +be saved, for Death’s shadow was already upon them. Folk +wondered and gaped - the Plague was still only a name ten leagues east +of London - but many repented and confessed and made restitution, though +some heard with idle ears, remembering the prophecy of Brother Robert +who had come with the same message half a man’s lifetime before, +and that no evil had followed his preaching.</p> +<p>At last St Matthias’ Eve saw Hilarius and the Friar at St Edmund’s +Abbey. There were many guests for the Convent’s hospitality +that night, and as Hilarius entered the hall of the guest-house - a +brother had charged himself with the care of the Friar - he heard the +sound of the vielle, and a rich voice which sang in good round English +against the fashion of the day.</p> +<p>“Martin, Martin!” he cried.</p> +<p>The vielle was instantly silent.</p> +<p>“Holà, lad!” cried the Minstrel, springing to +his feet; he caught Hilarius to him and embraced him heartily.</p> +<p>“Why, lad, not back in thy monastery? Nay, but I made +sure the Plague would send thee flying home, and instead I find thee +strayed farther afield.” Then seeing the injured faces round +him for that the song was not ended, he drew Hilarius to the bench beside +him and took up his vielle. “Be still now, lad, ’til +I have finished my ditty for this worshipful company; then, an’t +please thee to tell it, I will hear thy tale.”</p> +<p>The guests, who had looked somewhat sour at the interruption, unpursed +their lips, and settled to listen as the minstrel took up his song:-</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“The fair maid came to the old oak tree<br />(Sun and wind +and a bird on the bough),<br />The throstle he sang merrily - merrily +- merrily,<br />But the fair maid wept, for sad was she, sad was she,<br />Her +sweet knight - Oh! where was he?</p> +<p>He lay dead in the cold, cold ground<br />(Moon and stars and rain +on the hill),<br />In his side and breast were bloody wounds.<br />Woe, +woe is me for the fair ladye, and the poor knight he,<br />The poor +knight - Ah! cold was he.</p> +<p>The maiden sat her down to die<br />(Cold, cold earth on her lover’s +breast),<br />And the little birds rang mournfully,<br />And the moonshine +kissed her tenderly,<br />And the stars looked down right pityingly<br />On +the poor fair maid and the poor cold knight.<br />Ah misery, dear misery, +sweet misery!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>This mournful song was no sooner ended than supper was served; and +the company proved themselves good trenchermen. Hilarius caught +sight of the seditious friar making short work of the Convent’s +victuals, and marvelled to see him in a place to which he had given +so evil a name.</p> +<p>Martin was unfeignedly glad to see the lad, and listened intently +to his tale. He nodded his head as Hilarius related how the friar +he companied with preached in each village that men should repent ere +the scourge of God fell upon them; “but there is naught of it +as yet,” said the lad.</p> +<p>“Nay, nay, it is like a thief in the night. One day it +is not; and then the next, men sicken and fall like blasted wheat. +I heard a bruit of London that it was but a heap of graves - nay, one +grave rather, for they flung the bodies into a great trench; there was +no time to do otherwise: Black Death is swift with his stroke.”</p> +<p>Then Hilarius told of Piping Hugh and the Friar’s death-words +to the guests.</p> +<p>Martin swore a round oath and slapped his thigh.</p> +<p>“Now know I that thy Friar is a proper man an he has set a +curse on Piping Hugh of Mildenhall! A foul-mouthed knave, with +many a black deed to his name and blood on his hands, if men say truth; +and yet there was never a bird that would not come at his call, and +I never heard tell that he harmed one. What will thy Friar in +Bungay, lad?”</p> +<p>When he had heard the story of the Friar’s twice-repeated vision +and quest, the Minstrel sat silent awhile with knitted brow and head +sunk on his breast; then he eyed Hilarius half humorously, half tenderly.</p> +<p>“Methinks, lad, an thy Friar alloweth it, I will even go to +Bungay with thee; for I love thee well, lad, and would have thy company. +Also I like not the matter of the vision and would fain see the end +of it.”</p> +<p>That night the dream came again to the Friar, and a voice cried: +“Haste, haste, ere it be too late.” And so Hilarius +and Martin came to Bungay, the Friar guiding them, for the way was his +own. None of the three ever saw St Edmund’s Abbey again, +for in one short month the minster with its sister churches was turned +to be a spital-house, while the dead lay in heaps, silently waiting +to summon to their ghastly company the living that sought to make them +a bed.</p> +<p>Quaint little Bungay lay snug enough in the embrace of the low vine-crowned +hills which half encircled common and town. The Friar strode forward, +straining in his pace like a leashed hound; Martin and Hilarius following. +Once he stopped and turned a stricken face on his companions.</p> +<p>“What is that?” he said shrilly.</p> +<p>A magpie went ducking across the road, and Hilarius crossed himself +fearfully.</p> +<p>“Let us make haste,” cried the Friar when they told him; +and so at full pace they came to Bungay town.</p> +<p>The place looked empty and deserted, but from the distance came the +roar and hum of an angry crowd.</p> +<p>“The people are abroad,” said Martin, and his face was +very grave, “no doubt some knight is here, and there is a bear-baiting +on the common. Prithee, where is thy mother’s dwelling, +good Father, and I will go and ask news of her?”</p> +<p>“’Tis a lonely hovel by the waterside not far from the +Cattle Gate; Goody Wooten thou shalt ask for.”</p> +<p>Martin went swiftly forward over the Common; Hilarius and the Friar +followed more slowly, and when they came to the Cattle Gate they stood +fast and waited, the Friar turning his head anxiously and straining +to make his ears do a double service.</p> +<p>Hilarius, who had hitherto regarded Bungay and the Friar’s +business as the last stage of his journey to Wymondham and Brother Andreas, +was full of foreboding; he watched Martin on the outskirts of the crowd, +saw him throw up his hands with an angry gesture and point to the Friar. +Then he fell to parleying with the people, but Hilarius was too far +off to catch what was said.</p> +<p>“See there, ’tis her son,” Martin was saying vehemently; +“yon holy friar hath seen this thing in a vision, but alack! he +reads it otherwise; yea, and hath hasted hither from overseas to wrestle +with the Evil One for his mother’s soul - and now, and now - ”</p> +<p>The crowd parted, and he saw the most miserable sight. An old +woman lay on the ground by the river’s edge; a bundle of filthy +water-logged rags crowned by a bruised, vindictive face and grey hair +smeared with filth and slime. She lay on her back a shapeless +huddle; her right thumb tied to her left toe and so across: there was +a rope about her middle, but in their hot haste they had not stayed +to strip her.</p> +<p>Martin pressed forward, and then turning to the jeering, vengeful +crowd:</p> +<p>“By Christ’s Rood, this is an evil work ye have wrought,” +he said.</p> +<p>“Nay,” said one of the bystanders, “but it was +fair judgment, Minstrel. For years she hath worked her spells +and black arts in this place, ay, and cattle have perished and women +gone barren through her means. Near two days agone a child was +lost and seen last near her door, ay, and never seen again. When +we came to question her she cursed at us for meddling mischief-makers, +and would but glare and spit, and swear she knew naught of the misbegotten +brat.”</p> +<p>“Maybe ’twas true eno’,” said Martin. +“I hate these rough-cast witch-findings - ’tis not a matter +for man’s judgment, unless ’tis sworn and proven in court +before the Justiciary.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” joined in an old man, “what need of a Justice +when God speaks? We did but thole her to the river to see if she +would sink or swim. The witch did swim, as all can testify, her +Master helping her; and seeing that, we drew her under - ay, and see +her now as she lies, and say whether the Devil hath not set a mark on +his own?”</p> +<p>Martin wrung his hands.</p> +<p>“For the love of Christ, lay her decently on her pallet, and +say no word of this to yon holy man.”</p> +<p>Moved by his earnest manner, one or two more kindly folk busied themselves +unfastening the ropes and thongs which bound the witch, and bore her +to her wretched bed.</p> +<p>The people, in their previous eagerness, had torn down the front +of the miserable hovel she called home, so all men could see the poor +place and its dead dishonoured mistress.</p> +<p>Martin, finding his bidding accomplished, turned to meet Hilarius +and the Friar who were now coming slowly across the windswept common. +March mists gathered and draped the sluggish river; the dry reeds rattled +dismally in the ooze and sedge. Hilarius shivered, and the Friar +started nervously when Martin spoke.</p> +<p>“Friar,” he said, “God comfort thee! After +all thy pains thou art too late to speed thy mother’s soul; she +passed to-day, and lies even now awaiting burial at thy faithful hands.”</p> +<p>The Friar drew a quick breath, and Hilarius questioned Martin with +a look. The crowd parted to let them through, and hung their heads +abashed in painful silence as the Friar, led by Hilarius, gave his blessing.</p> +<p>They were close to the mean hovel now, and he turned to Martin.</p> +<p>“Didst thou hear of her end, or did she die alone, for the +people feared her?”</p> +<p>“Ay, she died alone,” answered Martin, and muttered, +“now God forgive me!” under his breath.</p> +<p>As they went into the wretched shed the setting sun broke through +the lowering grey clouds and shone full on the dead woman. It +lighted each vicious line and hideous trait of the wrinkled, toothless +face, and betrayed the mark of an evil life, surcharged with horrid +fear.</p> +<p>Hilarius shrank back shuddering. Could this hideousness be +death? The Friar stepped forward, but Martin stayed him.</p> +<p>“Nay, touch her not, Father, it may be the pestilence as thou +didst read in thy dream.”</p> +<p>The Friar fell on his knees; and, in the silence that followed was +heard the drip, drip, drip, from the sodden rags on the beaten earth +floor. The people without, staring, open-mouthed and silent, saw +the Friar look up; his hand hastily outstretched touched the dank, muddy +hair; then he knew all, and fell on his face with an exceeding bitter +cry. It was answered by another cry - the glad cry of a lost child +that is found.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The Friar, standing in front of that hovel of death, preached to +the cringing, terrified people, many of whom knelt and crouched in the +down-trodden grass and quag. He threw up his arms, and turned +his blind, anguished face to the setting sun.</p> +<p>“Woe to the rebellious children, saith the Lord, that take +counsel but not of Me, that they may add sin to sin. Darkness +shall come upon them; Death shall overtake them; their place shall know +them no more. Let them bare their backs to the scourge, let them +confess and repent ere I visit them as I visited Sodom and Gomorrah, +cities of the Plain.</p> +<p>“O ye people, ye have taken judgment in your hands and judged +falsely withal; but ye shall be judged in truth, yea, even according +to your measure. Repent, repent, for Death cometh swiftly and +maketh no long tarrying. It shall come; it shall snatch men’s +souls away, even as ye have torn away my mother’s soul, leaving +no space for repentance.”</p> +<p>He stretched his hands out over the common, and pointed to the little +town.</p> +<p>“Your dwellings shall be desolate, and this place a place of +heaps. Ye shall run hither and thither, seeking safety and finding +none; for the arm of the Lord is stretched out still because of the +wickedness of the earth. Woe, woe, woe, a disobedient and gainsaying +people! Woe, woe, woe, a people hating righteousness and loving +iniquity! The Lord shall straightway destroy them from off the +face of the earth.”</p> +<p>He made an imperative gesture of dismissal, and first one and then +another in the crowd turned to slink home like beaten dogs, snarling, +growling, but afraid.</p> +<p>Hilarius and Martin buried the witch at the back of her wretched +den; and the Friar, the priest lost in the son, prayed long by the else +unhallowed grave, and Martin prayed beside him.</p> +<p>Hilarius stood apart, his lips set straight, and said no prayer; +for what availed it to pray for an unassoilzied witch who had met her +due, damned alike by God and man?</p> +<p>Martin came up to him.</p> +<p>“She was his mother,” he said, as if making excuse.</p> +<p>Hilarius stared in bewilderment. His mother? Ay, but +an evil liver; and the people of Bungay had wrought a good work in sending +her to her own place. He crossed himself piously at the thought +of the near neighbourhood of devils busied with a thrice-damned soul.</p> +<p>Martin led them out of Bungay by the Earsham road, and the Friar +clung to him like a little child, for the strength of his vision was +spent. They lay that night with a friendly shepherd; but only +one slept, and that one Hilarius. He lay on a truss of sweet-smelling +hay, and dreamt of Wymondham and Brother Andreas; of gold, vermilion +and blue; of wondrous pictures, and a great name: and the scent of the +pine forest at home swept across his quiet sleep.</p> +<p>On the morrow came the parting of the ways, for Hilarius was all +aglow for Wymondham, and Martin had charged himself with the Friar at +least as far as Norwich.</p> +<p>“As well lead a blind friar as sing blindly at another’s +bidding,” he said whimsically, and so they bade one another farewell +never to meet again in this world: for Martin and the Friar went to +Yarmouth, not Norwich, and there they perished among the first when +the east wind swept the Plague thither in a boat-load of sickened shipmen. +And Hilarius - once again the Angel of the Lord stood in the path of +his desires.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VII - THE COMING OF HUNGER AND LOVE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Hilarius fared but slowly; it was ill travelling on a high-road in +good weather, but on a cross-road in the spring! - that was a time to +commend oneself body and soul to the Saints. He walked warily, +picking his way in and out of the bog between fence and ditch, which +was all that remained to show where the piety of the past once kept +a road. The low land to his left was submerged, a desolate tract +giving back a sullen grey sky, lifeless, barren, save where a gaunt +poplar like the mast of a sunken ship broke the waste of waters.</p> +<p>The sight brought Hilarius’ thoughts sharply back to the events +of the evening before. Wonderful indeed were the judgments of +God! A witch - plainly proved to be such - had been struck dead +in the midst of her sins; and London, that light-minded, reprobate city, +was a heap of graves. Now he, Hilarius, having seen much evil +and the justice of the Almighty, would get him in peace to Wymondham, +there to learn to be a cunning limner; and having so learnt would joyfully +hie him back to Prior Stephen and his own monastery.</p> +<p>Presently the way led somewhat uphill, and he saw to his right a +small hamlet. It lay some distance off his road, but he was sharp-set, +for the shepherd’s fare had been meagre; and so turned aside in +the hope of an ale-house. There was no side road visible, and +he struck across the dank, marshy fields until he lighted on a rude +track which led to the group of cottages. The place struck him +as strangely quiet; no smoke rose from the chimneys; no dogs rushed +out barking furiously at a stranger’s advent. The first +hovel he passed was empty, the open door showed a fireless hearth. +At the second he knocked and heard a sound of scuffling within. +As no one answered his repeated summons he pushed the door open; the +low room was desolate, but two bright eyes peered at him from a corner, +- ’twas a rat. Hilarius turned away, sudden fear at his +heart, and passed on, finding in each hovel only empty silence.</p> +<p>Apart from the rest, standing alone in a field, was a somewhat larger +cottage; a bush swung from the projecting pole above the door: it was +the ale-house that he sought; here, at least, he would find some one. +As he came up he heard a child crying, and lo! on the doorstep sat a +dirty little maid of some four summers, sobbing away for dear life.</p> +<p>Hilarius approached diffidently, and stooped down to wipe away the +grimy tears.</p> +<p>The child regarded him, round eyes, open mouth; then with a shrill +cry of joy, she held out her thin arms.</p> +<p>At the sound of her cry the door opened; on the threshold stood a +woman still young but haggard and weary-eyed; at her breast was a little +babe. She stared at Hilarius, and then pulling the child to her +in the doorway, waved him away.</p> +<p>“Stand off, fool! - ’tis the Plague.”</p> +<p>Hilarius shrank back.</p> +<p>“And thy neighbours?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Nay, they were light-footed eno’ when they saw what +was to do, and left us three to die like rats in a hole.” +Then eagerly: “Hast thou any bread?”</p> +<p>He shook his head.</p> +<p>“Nay, I came here seeking some. Art thou hungry?”</p> +<p>She threw out her hands.</p> +<p>“’Tis two days sin’ I had bite or sup.”</p> +<p>“Where lies the nearest village? and how far?”</p> +<p>“A matter of an hour, over yonder.”</p> +<p>“See, goodwife,” said Hilarius, “I will go buy +thee food and come again.”</p> +<p>She looked at him doubtfully.</p> +<p>“So said another, and he never came back.”</p> +<p>“Nay, but perchance some evil befell him,” said gentle +Hilarius.</p> +<p>“Well, I will trust thee.” She went in and returned +with a few small coins. “’Tis all I have. Tell +no man whence thou art, else they will hunt thee from their doors.”</p> +<p>Hilarius nodded, took the money, and ran as fast as he could go in +the direction of the village.</p> +<p>The woman watched him.</p> +<p>“Is it fear or love that lends him that pace?” she muttered, +as she sat down to wait.</p> +<p>It was love.</p> +<p>Hilarius entered the village discreetly, and adding the little money +he had to the woman’s scanty store, bought bread, a flask of wine, +flour and beans, and a jug of milk.</p> +<p>“’Tis for a sick child,” he said when he asked +for it, and the woman pushed back the money, bidding him God-speed.</p> +<p>The return journey was accomplished much more slowly, because of +his precious burden; and as he crossed a field, there, dead in a snare, +lay a fine coney.</p> +<p>“Now hath Our Lady herself had thought for the poor mother!” +cried Hilarius joyously, and added it to his store.</p> +<p>When he reached the cottage, and the woman saw the food, she broke +into loud weeping, for her need had been great; then, as if giving up +the struggle to another and a stronger, she sank on the bed with her +fast-failing babe in her arms.</p> +<p>Hilarius fed her carefully with bread and wine - not for nothing +had he served the Infirmarian when blood-letting had proved too severe +for some weak Brother - and then turned his attention to the little +maid who sat patient, eyeing the food.</p> +<p>For her, bread and milk. He sat down on a low stool, and taking +the child on his knee slowly supplied the gaping, bird-like mouth. +At last the little maid heaved a sigh of content, leant her flaxen head +against her nurse’s shoulder, and fell fast asleep.</p> +<p>Hilarius, cradling her carefully in gentle arms, crooned softly to +her, thrilling with tenderness. She was his own, his little sister, +the child he had found and saved. Surely Our Lady had guided him +to her, and her great Mother-love would shield this little one from +a foul and horrid death. In that dirty, neglected room, the child +warm against his breast, Hilarius lived the happiest moments of his +life.</p> +<p>Presently he rose, for there was much to be done, kissed the little +pale cheek, noted fearfully the violet shadows under the closed eyes, +and laid his new-found treasure on the bed by her mother.</p> +<p>The woman was half-asleep, but started awake.</p> +<p>“Art thou going?” she said, and despair gazed at him +from her eyes.</p> +<p>“Nay, nay, surely not until we all go together,” he said +soothingly. “I would but kindle a fire, for the cold is +bitter.”</p> +<p>Wood was plentiful, and soon a bright fire blazed on the hearth. +The poor woman, heartened by her meal, rose and came to sit by it, and +stretching out her thin hands to the grateful warmth, told her tale.</p> +<p>“’Twas Gammer Harden’s son who first heard tell +of a strange new sickness at Caxton’s; and then Jocell had speech +with a herd from those parts, who was fleeing to a free town, because +of some ill he had done. Next day Jocell fell sick with vomitings, +and bleeding, and breaking out of boils, and in three days he lay dead; +and Gammer Harden fell sick and died likewise. Then one cried +’twas the Plague, and the wrath of God; and they fled - the women +to the nuns at Bungay, and the men to seek work or shelter on the Manor; +but us they left, for I was with child.”</p> +<p>“And thy husband?’ said Hilarius.</p> +<p>“Nay, he was not my husband, but these are his children, his +and mine. Some hold ’tis a sin to live thus, and perhaps +because of it this evil hath fallen upon me.”</p> +<p>She looked at the babe lying on her lap, its waxen face drawn and +shrunk with the stress of its short life.</p> +<p>Hilarius spoke gently:-</p> +<p>“It is indeed a grievous sin against God and His Church to +live together out of holy wedlock, and perchance ’tis true that +for this very thing thou hast been afflicted, even as David the great +King. But since thou didst sin ignorantly the Lord in His mercy +sent me to serve thee in thy sore need; ay, and in very truth, Our Lady +herself showed me where the coney lay snared. Let us pray God +by His dear Mother to forgive us our sins and to have mercy on these +little ones.”</p> +<p>And kneeling there in the firelight he besought the great Father +for his new-found family.</p> +<p>Five days passed, and despite extreme care victuals were short. +Hilarius dug up roots from the hedgerows, and went hungry, but at last +the pinch came; the woman was too weak and ill to walk, the babe scarce +in life - there could be no thought of flight - and the little maid +grew white, and wan and silent. Then it came to Hilarius that +he would once again beg food in the village where he had sought help +before.</p> +<p>He went slowly, for he had eaten little that his maid might be the +better fed, and he was very sad. When he reached the village he +found his errand like to be vain. News of the Plague was coming +from many parts, and each man feared for his own skin. At every +house they questioned him: “Art thou from a hamlet where the Plague +hath been?” and when he answered “Yea,” the door was +shut.</p> +<p>Very soon men, angry and afraid, came to drive him from the place. +He gained the village cross, and prayed them for love of the Saviour +and His holy Rood to give him bread for his little maid and her mother. +Let them set it in the street, he would take it and cross no man’s +threshold. Surely they could not; for shame, let a little child +die of want?</p> +<p>“Nay, ’tis better they die, so are we safe,” cried +a voice; then they fell upon him and beat him, and drove him from the +village with blows and curses.</p> +<p>Bruised and panting, he ran from them, and at last the chase ceased; +breathless and exhausted he flung himself under a hedge.</p> +<p>A hawk swooped, struck near him, and rose again with its prey. +Hilarius shuddered; but perhaps the hawk had nestlings waiting open-mouthed +for food? His little maid! His eyes filled with tears as +he thought of those who awaited him. He picked up a stone, and +watched if perchance a coney might show itself. He had never killed, +but were not his nestlings agape?</p> +<p>Nothing stirred, but along the road came a waggon of strange shape +and gaily painted.</p> +<p>He rose to his feet, praying the great Mother to send him help in +his awful need.</p> +<p>The waggon drew near; the driver sat asleep upon the shaft, the horse +took his own pace. It passed him before he could pluck up heart +to ask an alms, and from the back dangled a small sack and a hen. +If he begged and was refused his little maid must die. A minute +later the sack and the hen had changed owners - but not unobserved; +a clear voice called a halt; the waggon stood fast; two figures sprang +out, a girl and a boy: and Hilarius stood before them on the white highway +- a thief.</p> +<p>“Seize the knave!” cried the girl sharply.</p> +<p>Hilarius stared at her and she at him. It was his dancer, and +she knew him, ay, despite the change of dress and scene, she knew him.</p> +<p>“What! The worthy novice turned worldling and thief! +Nay, ’tis a rare jest. What of thy fine sermons now, good +preacher?”</p> +<p>But Hilarius answered never a word; overcome by shame, grief, and +hunger, sudden darkness fell upon him.</p> +<p>When he came to himself he was sitting propped against the hedge; +the waggon was drawn up by the roadside, and the dancer and her brother +stood watching him.</p> +<p>“Fetch bread and wine,” said the girl, and to Hilarius +who tried to speak, “Peace, ’til thou hast eaten.”</p> +<p>Hilarius ate eagerly, and when he had made an end the dancer said:-</p> +<p>“Now tell thy tale. Prithee, since when didst thou leave +thy Saints and thy nursery for such an ill trade as this?”</p> +<p>Hilarius told her all, and when he had finished he wept because of +his little maid, and his were not the only tears.</p> +<p>The dancer went to the waggon and came back with much food taken +from her store, to which she added the hen; the sack held but fodder.</p> +<p>“But, Gia,” grumbled her brother, “there will be +naught for us to-night.”</p> +<p>“Thou canst eat bread, or else go hungry,” she retorted, +and filled a small sack with the victuals.</p> +<p>Hilarius watched her, hardly daring to hope. She held it out +to him: “Now up and off to thy little maid.”</p> +<p>Hilarius took the sack, but only to lay it down again. Kneeling, +he took both her little brown hands, and his tears fell fast as he kissed +them.</p> +<p>“Maid, maid, canst forgive my theft, ay, and my hard words +in the forest? God help me for a poor, blind fool!”</p> +<p>“Nay,” she answered, “there is naught to forgive; +and see, thou hast learnt to hunger and to love! Farewell, little +brother, we pass here again a fortnight hence, and I would fain have +word of thy little maid. Ay, and shouldst thou need a home for +her, bring her to us; my old grandam is in the other waggon and she +will care for her.”</p> +<p>Hilarius ran across the fields, full of sorrow for his sin, and yet +greatly glad because of the wonderful goodness of God.</p> +<p>When he got back his little maid sat alone by the fire. He +hastened to make food ready, but the child was far spent and would scarcely +eat. Then he went out to find the woman.</p> +<p>He saw her standing in the doorway of an empty hovel, and she cried +to him to keep back.</p> +<p>“My babe is dead, and I feel the sickness on me. I went +to the houses seeking meal, even to Gammer Harden’s; and I must +die. As for thee, thou shalt not come near me, but bide with the +child; so maybe God will spare the innocent.”</p> +<p>Hilarius besought her long that she would at least suffer him to +bring her food, but she would not.</p> +<p>“Nay, I could not eat, the fever burns in my bones; let me +alone that I may die the sooner.”</p> +<p>Hilarius went back with a heavy heart, and lay that night with the +little maid in his arms on the settle by the hearth. Despite his +fear he slept heavily and late: when he rose the sun was high and the +child awake.</p> +<p>He fed her, and, bidding her bide within, went out to gain tidings +of the poor mother. He called, but no one answered; and the door +of the hovel in which she had taken shelter stood wide. Then, +as he searched the fields, fearing the fever had driven her abroad, +he saw the flutter of garments in a ditch; and lo! there lay the woman, +dead, with her dead babe on her breast. She had lain down to die +alone with God in the silence, that haply the living might escape; and +on her face was peace.</p> +<p>Later, Hilarius laid green boughs tenderly over mother and babe, +and covered them with earth, saying many prayers. Then he went +back to his fatherless, motherless maid.</p> +<p>She ailed naught that he could see, and there was food and to spare; +but each day saw her paler and thinner, until at last she could not +even sit, but lay white and silent in Hilarius’ tender arms; and +he fought with death for his little maid.</p> +<p>Then on a day she would take no food, and when Hilarius put tiny +morsels in her mouth she could not swallow; and so he sat through the +long hours, his little maid in his arms, with no thought beside. +The darkness came, and he waited wide-eyed, praying for the dawn. +When the new day broke and the east was pale with light he carried the +child out that he might see her, for a dreadful fear possessed him. +And it came to pass that when the light kissed her little white face +she opened her eyes and smiled at Hilarius, and so smiling, died.</p> +<p>The dancer, true to her promise, scanned the road as the waggon drew +near the place of Hilarius’ first and last theft: he was standing +by the wayside alone. The waggon passed on carrying him with it; +and the dancer looked but once on his face and asked no question.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PART III - THE FRUIT</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I - HOW LONG, O LORD, HOW LONG!</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The Monastery by the forest pursued an even existence, with no great +event to trouble its serenity, for it lay too far west for the Plague +to be more than a terrible name.</p> +<p>True, there had been dissension when Prior Stephen, summoned to Cluny +by the Abbat, had perforce left the dominion to the Sub-Prior. +For lo! the Sub-Prior, a mild and most amiable man in his own estate, +had proved harsh and overbearing in government. Ay, and in an +irate mood he had fallen upon Brother William, the Sacrist, in the Frater, +plucked out his hair and beaten him sore; whereat the Convent was no +little scandalized, and counselled Brother William to resign his office. +He flouted the Chamberlain also, and Brother Roger the Hospitaller, +and so affronted the Brethren that when he began to sing the <i>Verba +mea</i> on leaving the chapter, the Convent - yea, even the novices +- were silent, to show their displeasure.</p> +<p>When Prior Stephen returned he was exceeding wroth, but said little; +only he took from the Sub-Prior his office, and all that appertained +thereto, and made him as one of the other monks; and Brother William, +who was a gentle and devout servant of God, he made Sub-Prior in his +stead; and the Convent was at peace.</p> +<p>Brother Ambrose, he to whom the vision was vouchsafed, had slipped +through the grey veil which once hid Jerusalem from his longing gaze; +Brother Richard was now in the land where the blind receive their sight; +and Brother Thomas the Cellarer - but of him let us say little and think +with charity; for ’tis to be feared that he greatly abused his +office and is come to judgment.</p> +<p>Two of the older monks, Brother Anselm and Brother Paul, who had +spent fifty years in the sheltered peace of the Monastery walls, sat +warming their tired old limbs in the south cloister, for the summer +sunshine was very pleasant to them.</p> +<p>“Since Brother Thomas died - ” began Brother Paul.</p> +<p>“The Lord have mercy on his soul!” ejaculated Brother +Anselm.</p> +<p>“Since Brother Thomas died,” said Brother Paul again +- a little impatiently, though he crossed himself piously enough - “methinks +the provisions have oft been scanty and far from tempting, Brother.”</p> +<p>“Ay, and the wine,” said Brother Anselm. “Methinks +our Cellarer draws the half of it from the Convent’s well.”</p> +<p>They shook their heads sadly.</p> +<p>“No doubt,” said Brother Anselm after a short silence, +“our Cellarer is most worthy, strict, and honest in the performance +of his office - while Brother Thomas, alack - ”</p> +<p>“Methinks Brother Edmund is somewhat remiss also in his duties,” +said Brother Paul. “The Prior, holy man, perceives nothing +of these things. On Sunday’s feast one served him with a +most unsavoury mess in the refectory, the dish thereof being black and +broken; yet he ate the meat in great content, and seemingly with appetite.”</p> +<p>“He is but young, he is but young - sixty come Michaelmas - +sixty, and twenty-two years Prior - ’tis a long term,” and +Brother Anselm nodded his head.</p> +<p>“Ay, he is still young, and of sound teeth,” said Brother +Paul, “whereas thou and I, Brother, are as babes needing pap-meat. +Brother Thomas - God rest his soul! - was wont to give savoury mess +easy of eating to the elder Brethren.”</p> +<p>“Ay, he was a kind man with all his faults,” said Brother +Anselm, fingering his toothless gums. “Think you ’twould +be well to speak of this matter to the Prior?”</p> +<p>“Nay, nay,” said the other, “he is ever against +any store being set on the things of this world - ‘’tis +well for the greater discipline of the flesh,’ so saith he ever. +Still he hath forbidden the blood-letting to us elder Brethren.”</p> +<p>“Methinks there is little to let, since Brother Thomas died,” +said Brother Anselm ruefully.</p> +<p>“Nay, then, let us seek out the Cellarer and admonish him - +maybe he will hear a word in season,” and the two old monks moved +slowly away to the Cellarer’s office as Prior Stephen came down +the cloister walk.</p> +<p>He looked little older, his carriage was upright as ever, but government +sat heavy upon him; the keen, ascetic face was weary, and the line of +the lips showed care. His thoughts were busy with Hilarius. +It was now full six years that the lad had left the Monastery, and since +the Christmas after his going no news had come of him, save that he +never reached St Alban’s. Had the Plague gathered him as +it gathered many another well-beloved son? Or had the awakening +proved too sudden for the lad set blind-eyed without the gate?</p> +<p>He passed from the cloister into the garth where bloomed the lilies +that Hilarius had loved so well. He looked at the row of nameless +graves with the great Rood for their common memorial; last but one lay +the resting-place of Brother Richard, and the blind monk’s dying +speech had been of the lad whose face he had strained his eyes to see.</p> +<p>Prior Stephen stood by the farmery door, and the scent of Mary’s +flowers came to him as it had come to Hilarius at the gate. He +stretched out his hands with the strange pathetic gesture of a strong +man helpless. It was all passing fair: the fields of pale young +corn trembling in the gentle breeze; the orchards and vineyards with +fast maturing fruit; the meadows where the sleek kine browsed languidly +in the warm summer sunshine. Peace and prosperity everywhere; +the old Church springing into new beauty as the spire rose slowly skywards; +peace and prosperity, new glories for the House of the Lord; and yet, +and yet, his heart ached for his own helplessness, and for the exceeding +longing that he had for the boy whose mother once held that heart in +the hollow of her little hand.</p> +<p>Ah well, blessed be God who had called him from the things of this +world to the service of Christ and the Church! Once again he offered +himself in the flame of his desires: he would fast and pray and wait.</p> +<p>The Office bell sounded sharp and clear across the still summer air +calling to Vespers, and the Prior hasted to his place.</p> +<p>“<i>Qui seminant in lachrymis in exultatione metent</i>,” +chanted the deep voices of the monks, and Prior Stephen’s voice +trembled as he joined in the Psalmody.</p> +<p>“<i>Euntes ibant et flebant mittentes semina sua. Venientes +autem venient cum exultatione portantes manipulos suos</i>.”</p> +<p>He had sown in tears, ay, and was weary of the sowing; but the harvesting +was not yet.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II - MARY’S LILIES</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It came to pass upon a certain day scarce a se’nnight later, +that Prior Stephen was troubled in his mind by reason of a dream which +came to him.</p> +<p>It happened on this wise. He was sitting by his window after +the noon repast, musing, as he was wont, on his dear son. The +song of the bees busy in the herb-garden was very pleasant to his ear, +the warm, still air overcame him, and he slept. Suddenly he heard +a voice calling - a voice he knew in every fibre of his being and yet +could set no name to, for it was the voice of God. He arose in +haste and went out into the garth, and lo! under the lilies Hilarius +lay sleeping. The Prior stood fast in great wonder, his heart +leaping for joy; yet he could not cross the little piece of grass that +lay between the cloister and the farmery door.</p> +<p>As he watched, a woman, light of foot and of great beauty, came swiftly +from the gate to where Hilarius slept; and the Prior was grieved, and +marvelled that the porter had opened to such an one; for it was a grave +scandal that a woman should set foot within the Monastery precincts. +He strove to cry, but his voice died on his lips, and his feet were +as lead.</p> +<p>The woman stayed when she came to the sleeping lad, and stooped to +arouse him, but he slept on. She called him, and her voice was +as the calling of the summer sea on a shelving beach; but Hilarius gave +no heed. Then, in great impatience, she caught at the white lilies +under which he lay; and, as she broke the flower-crowned stems, Hilarius +stirred and cried out in his sleep, whereat she plucked the faster. +Of a sudden Prior Stephen was as one set free. He strode to the +woman’s side: there was but one lily left. He laid his hand +on her shoulder, for speech was still far from him: and she fell back +from the one remaining blossom with a cry of fear - and Prior Stephen +awoke, for behold! it was a dream; but he was sore troubled.</p> +<p>“Maybe,” said he, “evil threatens the lad, such +evil as slew his mother, on whom God have mercy!” And sighing +heavily he took his way to the great Rood and made supplication for +his son.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Far away, under a southern sky, in one of the great palaces of Florence, +there stood a woman of fair stature, with tight-clenched hands, whose +many jewels bit the tender flesh. Her russet eyes flashed under +threatening brows, her teeth held fast the curling upper lip. +Great, alack! was her fame: men crept to her knee like spaniels craving +favour. Great was her wealth: a golden piece for every ruddy strand +that hung a shimmering mantle to her knee. Her beauty - nay, men +had slain themselves gladly to escape the torment of her look. +She stood in the curtained doorway, a heavy purple hanging at her back; +and the man who awaited her paled as he saw her vengeful face.</p> +<p>It was Hilarius. He drew himself up to the full of his slender +height, and bowed.</p> +<p>Panting a little, the woman came towards him across the many-hued +marble floors; and, as she passed, a vase of great white lilies caught +in her draperies of cramoisie and fell. She gave no heed, but +swept on, and faced him in the sunny silence. Across the pause +the Angelus sounded from a church hard by: Hilarius crossed himself +devoutly; and the stillness fled before a woman’s scornful laugh.</p> +<p>“Nay, then, Signor,” she cried mockingly, “is ours +to be a war of signs and silence? I have heard thy lips were ready +enough with judgment, though they halt at a love-phrase. By Our +Lady, if all that is said of thee be true, I will e’en have thee +whipped at the gibbet for thy gibes! Speak, fool, while thy tongue +is left thee; ’tis a last asking. Wilt thou paint this face +of mine that is, it seems, so little to thy liking? Strain not +my patience over much - ’tis a slender cord at best, and somewhat +tried already. Speak, is it yea or nay?”</p> +<p>Hilarius looked away to where Mary’s flowers lay bruised and +scattered on the flag of blood-red marble; his answer came low and clear:-</p> +<p>“‘It is nay.’”</p> +<p>She thrust her head forward, and looked at him wondering; there was +a stain where her teeth had been busy.</p> +<p>“‘It is nay,’” she repeated after him, and +her eyes mocked him. “May a poor Princess ask the Signor’s +reason?”</p> +<p>Hilarius pointed past her to the fallen lilies.</p> +<p>“It lies there.”</p> +<p>For an instant the hot colour splashed the angry whiteness of her +cheek; then, pale to the lips, she turned on him; and she stammered +in her wrath:-</p> +<p>“And dost thou - dost thou dare, say this to my face - to me, +who stooped to ask when I had but to command? I, with my unmatched +beauty; I, who hold the hearts of men in thrall to the lifting of my +eyes; I, to whom men kneel as to their God! Art thou mad, mad, +that thou canst set aside such a behest as mine? ’Tis small +wonder men say thy doublet hides a monkish dress; of a truth the tale +they brought savoured of little else. Hear me, thou prating, milk-faced +Modesty, I choose that thou shalt limn this face of mine: say me nay, +and I will teach thee a lesson hard of forgetting; for I will silence +thy preaching for aye, and lend my serving-men to whip thee through +the streets. Men, said I? Nay, thou art too much a cur to +make fit sport for men: rather my maids shall wield the rod and lace +thy shoulders.”</p> +<p>She flung herself on a low couch by the open window, where the peacocks +on the terrace strutted in the sun; and Hilarius waited, dumb as the +dog to which she had likened him, for he had no word.</p> +<p>There was silence a while.</p> +<p>Then the Princess spoke, and her voice cut Hilarius like the sting +of a lash:-</p> +<p>“Bring me yon flowers.”</p> +<p>He obeyed.</p> +<p>“Set them at my feet.”</p> +<p>He bent his knee and did so, wondering.</p> +<p>A moment, and she trod them under; their dying fragrance filled the +air, as their living breath had flooded the senses of the blind-eyed +lad at the Monastery gate.</p> +<p>One by one she set her heel upon the blossoms, and the marble was +yellow with stolen gold.</p> +<p>Hilarius held his breath; it was as if she did to death some living +thing, and yet he dared not bid her stay her insolent feet.</p> +<p>It was done; and she looked at him under questioning brows.</p> +<p>“So much for thy lilies! Dost still think that it will +soil thy brush to limn such an one as I? I, whom men call the +Queen of Love - but thy lips, say they, burnt with another name! +Bethink thee, faint heart, there is not a man in all this city but would +count death a small price to pay for my favours; and I ask of thee one +little service, and thou shalt name thine own reward. Surely ’tis +churlish to gainsay!”</p> +<p>Her voice was suddenly sweet.</p> +<p>Stooping, she gathered to her the destruction she had wrought, fingering +the fallen petals tenderly, with a little sigh. She glanced up +at Hilarius through her lashes’ net. “Maybe I was +over hasty,” she said softly, and a sob swelled the round of her +wonderful throat - “and yet how couldst thou call me wanton?” +Her mouth drooped a little - she was very fair.</p> +<p>“Art thou still minded to set these poor pale flowers against +the roses in love’s garden? For I love thee,” she +added, and then suddenly she was still.</p> +<p>Hilarius looked from the dead flowers to the woman in her over-mastering +beauty, and all at once the passion that lies hid in the heart of every +man leapt to his lips. He desired this woman as he had never before +desired aught in all the world, and he knew, to his shame, that she +was his for the asking. The blood thudded and rang in his veins; +he feasted his eyes on the curve of her neck and the radiance of her +sun-swept hair. He stretched out his hands, but ere he could speak +she raised a white, terrified face, and glanced over her shoulder.</p> +<p>“Who touched me?” she gasped, her voice shrill with fear, +“who touched me?” And she sprang to her feet.</p> +<p>There was no one: the two shared a common pallor as they stared into +each other’s eyes across the dying lilies. Hilarius shrank +back and covered his face with his hands. Clear and distinct he +heard the Prior’s voice: “<i>A light woman - a light woman</i>.”</p> +<p>Then the Princess said hoarsely, “Go, go;” and without +word or look Hilarius went.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The Prior rose from his knees comforted. He had wrestled with +the devil for his son’s soul, and knew that he had prevailed.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III - OPEN EYES AT THE GATE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Another year wrote its record on forest and field. The weeks +passed; summer sped to autumn, the ripe corn bowed to the sickle. +The Convent’s lands were rich and heavy, virgin soil reclaimed; +and the Prior, watching the last great wain piled high with wealth of +golden treasure, saw the porter coming to him.</p> +<p>Now the porter was stout, short of breath, and of a hasty spirit; +and the Prior knew something was amiss by reason of his hurried gait +and wrathful countenance.</p> +<p>“Domine,” he gasped, “Domine, there is a ragged +man at the gate, a vagabond by his own showing, and he craves speech +of thee. I bade him go to the guest-house, but he will not budge, +and hath waited already an hour despite my - ”</p> +<p>The porter stayed, staring; he spoke to the wind; the Prior was already +halfway to the gate.</p> +<p>“This my son was dead and is alive again,” sang his heart. +The porter, afraid, hasted after him with the keys, and had scarce time +to do his office ere the sunburnt vagabond was clasped in the Prior’s +arms. It was a harvesting indeed.</p> +<p>That night Hilarius went across to the Prior’s house to tell +the tale of his journeyings. He found him seated in a great oak +chair by the open window; the sky was ablaze with stars, and the flame +of the oil lamp jarred like a splash of yellow paint on the moonlight +which flooded the room; the Prior’s eyes smiled measureless content, +and the murmured “<i>Laus Deo</i>” of his lips voiced the +gladness of his heart. Thus, in the shelter of peace and a great +love, Hilarius told his tale, while the forest waved a welcome to him +over the Monastery wall, and the late lilies burned white in the garth +below.</p> +<p>The Prior sat with his chin in his hand, his eyes fixed on the lad’s +face, pale against the dark wainscot; and Hilarius told of his journeyings, +and all that befell, even as it hath been recorded in this chronicle; +and the Prior’s eyes were wet as he heard of the little maid.</p> +<p>“And then, my son?” said the Prior.</p> +<p>“Then, my Father, I companied with the caravan folk as far +as the sea-coast; and, leaving them there, went overseas in the train +of my lord Bishop Robert Walter of Norwich, who was hasting to Rome. +He knew thee, my Father, and bade his people supply my needs.”</p> +<p>“Ay, he knows me,” said the Prior briefly. “The +Lord reward him according to his works, but show him mercy forasmuch +as he had compassion on my son!”</p> +<p>“Then saw I Rome, my Father, that great and beauteous city +full of treasure and many wonders; only the Holy Father I did not see, +being let. Methinks life in that country is as one long pageant; +but I marked that great holiness and an evil life, much riches and much +penury, dwelt there side by side, and men reeked little of death but +much of pleasure. Then one bade me go to Florence an I would be +a limner; therefore I hasted thither, and gave my last coin for bread +as I entered the city.”</p> +<p>The Prior’s brows contracted; the lad had seen some schooling.</p> +<p>“But thou didst learn to be a limner, my son?”</p> +<p>“Ay, my Father, in God’s time: at first I must herd goats +and sell melons in the market-place for a lump of bread. Day by +day I strove to gain enough to buy colours, but could not, for the Lord +sent me ever a neighbour poorer than myself. Nevertheless I was +of good courage, knowing the Lord’s ways are not as ours; and +mindful how Brother Ambrose held that inasmuch as the Heavenly City +is laid with fair colours ’twere no sin to deem that a man may +limn perfect pictures there, for the gift is from the Lord.”</p> +<p>“My son, ’tis a great lesson thou hast learnt,” +said the Prior, “for the Word was made Flesh; and as Blessed John +hath it, a man cannot love God unseen, if he love not the brother whom +He hath given him. What next, dear lad?”</p> +<p>“My Father, the Lord Himself sent a messenger to me. +One day a great limner, the Signor Andrea di Cione, whom men call d’Orcagna, +stayed by me where I stood with my melons in the shadow of the Shepherd’s +Tower, and bade me follow him to his house, for he would fain use me +for an angel’s head in the great Altar-piece he was e’en +then concerned with for the Church of the White Friars. Later +he heard my story; and when he found I had some small skill with the +brush, he kept me with him, and taught me as only such an one can teach: +him I served five years. And many times Satan desired my soul; +nay, once I was in peril of hell-fire, but the Lord was with me, and +plucked my feet out of the pit. But of that I will speak anon, +at my shriving, as is meet.”</p> +<p>The Prior remembered his dream, but he said no word, and Hilarius +took up his tale.</p> +<p>“Then one day my master cried there was an end to teaching; +nevertheless he would have me bide with him in honour for the work. +But my heart was full of longing for home and the scent of the forest; +and, above all, for thee, my Father; therefore I set my face north, +that I might bring back my gift to St Benedict and our Church; and should +have been here long ere this, but I was let by the way.”</p> +<p>The Prior looked up a little anxiously, and Hilarius smiled at the +question in his face.</p> +<p>“’Tis a lawless tract, my Father, under the shadow of +the great mountains beyond Florence; and I was taken by robbers, who +bore me and others of our company to their fastness in the hills: there +I lay in a little cave many days; but what befell the rest I know not. +The robbers brought me forth to serve them, and by God’s mercy +handled me kindly, though they thought little of bloodshedding.</p> +<p>“Then one of them was troubled in his spirit, and minded to +forsake this evil manner of life. Therefore one night he fled, +carrying me with him, when the others had gone forth; and we made good +our way to Mantua. There Pietro, for so was the robber called, +left me that he might give himself to the service of God and men, inasmuch +as he had formerly abused them. Never saw I man so changed, my +Father; his speech, formerly profane, was all of God and the Saints; +he did penance and confessed his sins publicly; ay, by the Justice’s +order he received one hundred lashes in the market-place, and at every +lash he cried with upturned face, ‘<i>Deo Gratias</i>!’ +And I was there, because he besought of me to stand in the crowd and +pray for him that his courage failed not. But it came to pass +that even the people marvelled at his joyful endurance; and indeed ’twas +more like a scourging of one of the blessed martyrs than of a poor sinful +robber. After this the Brothers of the Poor took him, for such +was his desire; and so I bade him farewell, and craved his blessing.”</p> +<p>“The Lord fulfil all his mind!” said the Prior with clasped +hands.</p> +<p>“Amen,” said Hilarius.</p> +<p>“Didst thou not fear to journey further alone, my son?”</p> +<p>“Nay, my Father, I found for the most part good and kindly +men by the way, despite their somewhat evil seeming; but at Genoa I +took service with a merchant then beginning his journey, and travelled +with him through Flanders, a strange, flat country with many canals +and tall poplar trees; and so we came to Bruges in safety, after a most +prosperous course. There he commended me to a good friend of his, +a wool merchant travelling to Salisbury; and at first all things went +well with us; but later the winds proved contrary, and we were driven +hither and thither in great peril of our lives, but at last made the +Bristol Channel, and so came safe into port. Thence I have come +hither afoot begging my bread.”</p> +<p>When Hilarius had made an end, the Prior took him in his arms and +blessed him for his dear son; praising God that the lad had come back +a child at heart, but hungering, loving, open-eyed.</p> +<p>Next morning, being shriven, Hilarius ate the bread and drank the +wine of the “wayfaring man,” his heart merry for the joy +of his home-coming. When the Lady-Mass was ended he knelt on in +her Chapel.</p> +<p>“Great Light of Love, all praise and thanks be thine from thy +poor son,” sang his heart; and then he prayed for his little maid.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV - THE PASSING OF PRIOR STEPHEN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The Convent welcomed Hilarius gladly, and on the Feast of St Michael +he made his profession, for the Prior deemed that he had served his +noviciate and been found faithful; and the Brethren assented eagerly, +for they were fain to keep this wondrous limner for the service of their +own Church.</p> +<p>Then, by the Prior’s command, Hilarius set himself to limn +a great picture for the High Altar. It was a Crucifixion, and +all his heart and all his love were in it. When the Brethren first +saw the fair proportion and fine colours that Hilarius brought to the +work, they rejoiced in that their Church should be glorified above other +Churches of the Order; but when the picture was near completing, and +they gazed up into the wondrous face of the Great King who looked down +from the throne of His triumphant suffering, with a world of hunger +and love in His eyes for those who had so enthroned Him, they hung their +heads for shame because of the emulation in their hearts; and lo! the +Cellarer, for very love, was careful for the needs of the elder Brethren; +and the monks, for very love, laid hold gladly of suffering, and so +the Convent was blessed, and lived together in unity.</p> +<p>In one of the groups very near the Cross, Hilarius set a grey-eyed +girl, a woman with a babe at the breast, and clinging to her skirts, +a little flaxen-headed maid. None but the Prior knew the meaning +of these three, and their names, with that of a poor light-o’-love, +were ever on his lips when he offered the Holy Sacrifice.</p> +<p>Gentle Brother Hilarius painted and loved, and was beloved of all +his world. The years sped, and he became in turn Almoner, Novice-master, +and Sub-Prior: and no man envied him, for he reckoned himself ever as +least of all and servant of all.</p> +<p>Prior Stephen attained his fourscore years, ruling the Convent wisely +and well to the very end: ay, and never ailed aught, his call coming +as it might be straight from the mouth of the Lord.</p> +<p>On the Feast of Blessed Stephen he went into the chapter and said +as always: “<i>The souls of the deceased brethren and believers +rest in peace</i>!” to which the Convent replied, “<i>Amen</i>.” +Then with his hands raised to bless he cried, “<i>Benedicite</i>,” +and again with loud and joyful voice “<i>Domine</i>,” and +again, “<i>Domine</i>!” as of one who answers to his name +- and so passed to his place in the Kingdom of Christ.</p> +<p>The Convent elected Hilarius to be Prior in his stead, which election +the Abbat of Cluny confirmed with good grace.</p> +<p>Time passed, and the fame of the Monastery grew because of the exceeding +beauty of the Church, for Hilarius, with those whom he taught, set fair +pictures on the walls, and blazoned the roof with the blue of heaven +and gold of the wakeful stars. In the span over the High Altar +he set Blessed Benedict himself with the face of Prior Stephen, and +round him the angel virtues; even as one Giotto, a shepherd lad, had +limned them in the Church of the Little Brothers.</p> +<p>Now Prior Hilarius desired greatly to set a picture of Our Lady above +the Altar in her Chapel. Long did he pray with ever-increasing +fervour and much fasting that this boon might be vouchsafed him for +her glory and the Convent’s greater good. And one day - +’twas her Nativity - he set his hand to the work, for it seemed +to him that she would have it so; and he was greatly humbled that such +heavenly kindness should attend so vile a sinner. Day by day he +set apart some hours for this service; and he limned a face so fair +and radiant, with woman’s love and light of heaven, that it was +whispered in the cloister walks that the Prior had surely been blessed +by a vision, else had he never pictured the Maid-Mother in so wondrous +a fashion: and of a truth a man might well give credence to such a story, +for the joy that shone in the Prior’s eyes and might not be hid.</p> +<p>Many other tales did the Brethren tell of Hilarius, but softly, for +he would hear no word of his own deeds or the favours vouchsafed him.</p> +<p>When he walked in the garth the pigeons circled round him crooning +their peace-note; and it was told that the kine in the meadows ceased +browsing when he passed, and needs must company with him a little way.</p> +<p>Once it befell that a lay-brother was afflicted with heavy sickness +by reason of the sun’s great heat; and Satan strove with him for +his undoing, so that the poor soul foamed at the mouth and roared out +blasphemy; yea, verily, and must be held with cords also, lest he do +himself or his fellows some grievous hurt. But when the Prior +laid his hand between the man’s troubled eyes sweet sleep came +upon him, and his madness forsook him.</p> +<p>The poor also crowded to the Monastery gate and were fed, ay, even +if the Brethren went hungry; and if any man in all the villages round +had aught against his neighbour he would come to the Prior for a just +hearing.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, despite these things the Convent’s peace began +to be troubled. Men sought the Monastery for its famous name, +caring but little for religion; there were many young novices within +its walls, and the strong hand of Prior Stephen was lacking. Hilarius +was of gentler build; he would speak ever in love, thinking no evil, +whereas it is not given to all men to understand that tongue. +So it came to pass that the younger Brethren waxed fat and kicked, and +the elder Brethren murmured.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V - “GABRIEL, MAKE THIS MAN TO UNDERSTAND THE VISION.” +- DAN. viii. 16.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>One day the Novice-master, Brother Adam, a most worthy man, came +in sore trouble to the Prior and would resign his office.</p> +<p>“Surely never before did such an ill-conditioned brood find +shelter in a monastery!” he cried. “They grow fat, +idle, insolent, quarrelsome-never at peace among themselves; never a +Pater or an Ave too many, or a task fulfilled, save for fear of stripes. +I would that the time of blood-letting were here that their high stomachs +might be brought low. I am no longer young, my Father, and this +burden tries me sorely. Prithee, let it be shifted to another +and a stronger back.”</p> +<p>The Prior listened with many an inward <i>mea culpa</i>. “’Tis +a sad hearing, Brother Adam, but young blood is hard of mastering; maybe +this ill mood will pass. The lad Robert is surely ever gentle +and decorous? He hath a most beauteous voice.”</p> +<p>The Novice-master threw up his hands.</p> +<p>“Nay, Father, nay, he hath indeed the voice of an angel, but +methinks his body is surely the habitation of Satan. He will sing +an it please him - or when thou art by, my Father, - but, an it please +him not, he is silent; ay, even under grievous stripes. The Precentor +giveth him as negligent and ill-conditioned; and in choir, when he looketh +most like to one of God’s Saints, he is but plotting mischief +for the day.”</p> +<p>The Prior heard him sadly.</p> +<p>“And Hubert?” he said. “Hubert methinks hath +a great love of colour and a fine hand with the brush.”</p> +<p>Brother Adam was almost speechless.</p> +<p>“Hubert! Nay Father, forgive me, Father, but even this +very Hubert but yesterday slipped a handful of pebbles into Brother +Edmund’s mess, whereby he was like to break his teeth or take +some more grievous hurt. And indeed the peace of the Brethren +is much troubled, wherefore they complain bitterly.”</p> +<p>“Young blood, young blood, but not of necessity evil,” +said the Prior. Then, seeing the Novice-master’s aggrieved +face, he bade him have patience yet a little, for he himself would speak +to the novices; and with this Brother Adam must fain be content.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The next day in the Chapter the Prior spoke.</p> +<p>It comes to pass oftentimes that men seeing a sign are made curious +by it; and then forgetting, find the clue thereto, it may be, long after. +Even thus it happened on this day in the Chapter; and when Prior Hilarius +was gathered to his rest the Brethren remembered how they had marked +and marvelled at the strange beauty of his face, the beauty as of one +who sees the face of the Lord.</p> +<p>“My children,” he cried - “for my children ye are, +though I see among you many it were more fitting I should hail as father, +but that the ruling of the Lord cannot be gainsaid - my children, I +am minded to think that I have this day a message on my lips that is +not mine own.</p> +<p>“Last night a vision came to me as I slept. Blessed Benedict, +our Father, stood at my side, and his face was troubled.</p> +<p>“‘Arise, my son,’ he cried, ‘arise, for the +Lord is at hand and hath need of thee.’</p> +<p>“And I, deeming it was of judgment that he spake, sprang up +in shame and fear that the Master should find me sleeping.</p> +<p>“Then cried Blessed Benedict again:-</p> +<p>“‘If thou wilt serve the Lord, make haste, for He hath +called thee these many times,’ and so saying passed from my sight.</p> +<p>“Brethren, I went forth as one bewildered, and made haste to +the Church lest peradventure I should find Him; but the lamps burnt +dim and all was silent. Then I turned aside and went out into +the night, and it was very dark, with no sound but the wind in the forest +trees.</p> +<p>“My heart was a-hungered, and I sought in cloister and garth; +and as I hasted to the gate I cried aloud, even as she cried who sought +Him in a garden - ‘They have taken away my Lord.’</p> +<p>“At the gate I stayed me, and besought the Lord for a sign; +and lo, in the darkness one came and led me by the hand away from the +gate, across the garth and up the dormitory stair, nor loosed me until +I passed within where the Brethren lay sleeping, and the chamber was +bright with exceeding radiance.</p> +<p>“I found myself by the pallet of my dear son Robert: his face +was wet with tears; and as he lay I saw upon his shoulder the mark of +many stripes.</p> +<p>“Again, one took my hand and led me from one to another of +our Brethren, and on every face lay the shadow of a great need, but +in every face there was somewhat of the Christ; and the lesson burnt +in my heart.</p> +<p>“Then One came swiftly and laid healing hands on the boy Robert; +but I fled, for I might not see Him; and I awoke sore troubled - ay, +and the trouble is on me still.</p> +<p>“My Brethren, I can but tell the vision as it came to me. +Great is the rule of Benedict, our Father, and in it stripes, grievous +and many as our sins, have their rightful place; but mayhap we forget +that love, and love alone, should strike. Ay, and I mind me how +Prior Stephen, my Father, said that to be monk a man must learn before +all things to hunger and to love. Love should draw the water and +build the fire, till the field and attend the sanctuary; and hunger +we should cherish in our hearts, hunger for righteousness and for the +souls of our brethren, for this is the hunger of God.</p> +<p>“Men come over lightly to the Lord’s work; and lo! pride +and emulation, jealousy and discontent, spring up and thrive, and the +end is shame and confusion.</p> +<p>“I speak as to my children; it is in my heart that the Lord +is at hand: let us see that we love while there is yet time.”</p> +<p>Then he turned to the novices and stretched out his hands to where +they stood amazed, and it may be ashamed - not after this manner was +Brother Adam wont to rebuke them.</p> +<p>“And ye, who are, as it were, the babes of our Order, give +heed to your ways, neither bring unwilling hands to this service. +Better far go forth, yea, even to death, than mock the Lord with froward +feet and a heart that is full of vanity. Remember the sacrifice +which Cain offered and the Lord rejected, for he gainsayed the voice +of the Lord and disobeyed His Commandment; wherefore the wrath of God +fell upon him.</p> +<p>“I who speak now, speak in love; give ear to my words, and +let fear befriend you; for the coming of the Lord is as a thief in the +night, and lo! stripes bitter and many await that servant whom the Master +finds sleeping.”</p> +<p>Then the Prior, having made an end of speaking, raised his hand to +bless, and went forth in silence; and no man stirred in his place, for +they knew that the Lord had spoken and were afraid.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VI - THE HUNGER OF DICKON THE WOODMAN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>June was at an end, and men cried aloud for rain. The hedges +were white, the fields scorched and brown; the leaves fell from the +trees as at autumn’s touch; the fruits scarce formed hung wry +and twisted on the bough; the heavens burnt pitiless, without a cloud.</p> +<p>Dickon, the woodman, sat by the wayside gnawing a crust and a scrap +of mouldy bacon. There was no sound but the howl of a dog from +some neighbouring farmstead, and he sat in sullen mood, his bill-hook +beside him, brooding over his wrongs; for the world had gone contrary +with him.</p> +<p>His wife was dead; she had died in childbed a month gone, leaving +six hungry, naked brats on his shoulders; and now a worse thing had +befallen him; his gold was gone - his gold to which he had no right, +for ’twas blood-money, the food of his children, ay, and something +beside; but Dickon loved that gold piece above all the world - above +Heaven and his own soul - and it was gone.</p> +<p>A neighbour had surely done it; marked the hiding-place which he +had deemed so safe, and made off with the prize; and i’ faith +’twas easy carrying. There was but one piece, and Dickon +minded how he had changed his petty hoard to gold scarce a month back +at the fair. Maybe it was Thomas the charcoal burner had served +him this ill turn; or William Crookleg, the miller’s man; he was +a sly, prying fellow, and there had been ill blood between them.</p> +<p>He was fain to seek the Monastery that lay the other side the forest, +and crave justice of the Prior, but that the Prior might say ’twas +ill-got gain and well rid of.</p> +<p>Dickon rose to his feet and shambled homewards; he was ragged, ill-fed, +unkempt. The day’s work was done, and on the village green +he found men and women, for the most part as ill-clad as himself, standing +about in groups gossiping. The innkeeper lounged at the ale-house +door, thin and peaked as his fellows; there was no good living for any +man in those parts, by reason of the over-lord who sore oppressed them.</p> +<p>A little man, keen-eyed and restless, holding a lean and sorry horse +by the bridle, was talking eagerly.</p> +<p>“Nay, ’tis true eno’, and three crows saw I this +very day on the churchyard wall - it bodes ill to some of us.”</p> +<p>“Well, well,” said the innkeeper, “have it thine +own way. Methinks the ill hath outrun the omen, for there will +be naught for man or beast shortly - but fine pickings for thy three +crows.”</p> +<p>The little man scowled at him: Dickon came up.</p> +<p>“What’s to do?” he said curtly.</p> +<p>“Nay,” said mine host, “Robin will have it that +some further evil is upon us - tho’ methinks we have got our fill +and to spare with this drought - ay, and ’twas at thy house, Dickon, +he saw the corpse-light.”</p> +<p>“Better a corpse-light than six open mouths, and naught to +fill them,” said Dickon surlily. “Whither away, Robin? +’Tis not far this beast will travel.”</p> +<p>“Right thou art, but my master will turn an honest penny with +the carcass,” answered the little man; “give me my reckoning, +friend John. I must needs haste if I would see the Forester’s +ere nightfall.”</p> +<p>He pulled out a few small coins and a gold piece. When Dickon +saw it his eyes gleamed. Robin paid the reckoning and put the +piece in his cheek.</p> +<p>“Hard-earned money - ’tis blood out of a stone to draw +wages from my master. Better it should light in my belly than +in a rogue’s pocket. ’Tis as well for me that John +o’ th’ Swift-foot swings at the cross-roads. Godden, +my masters!” And leading his weary beast, he took the road +that skirted the forest.</p> +<p>The moon was at full, and he had yet a good stretch of lonely way +before him, when the horse stumbled and fell and would not rise.</p> +<p>“A murrain on the beast!” muttered Robin angrily, tugging +in vain at the creature on whom death had taken pity. “I +must e’en leave him by the wayside and tell Richard what hath +befallen.”</p> +<p>He stooped to loose the halter, and as he bent to his task a man +slipped from the shadow of the hedge into the quiet moonlight. +There was a thud, a dull cry, and Robin fell prone across the horse’s +neck - a pace beyond him in the moonlight shone the gleam of gold.</p> +<p>Next day Dickon’s child died, ay, and the other five followed +with scant time between the buryings. Another had fathered them +and filled the gaping mouths; but men shuddered at his care, for it +was the Black Death that they had deemed far from them.</p> +<p>Pale and woebegone they clustered on the green. News had come +of Robin - he was dead when they found him - but no man gave heed. +Death was in the air, death held them safe in walls they might not scale. +The heavens were brass, food failed for man and beast, God and man alike +had forsaken them. The forest lay one side, the river, now but +a shallow sluggish stream, lay the other; ’twas a cleft stick +and the springe tightened.</p> +<p>No evil had as yet befallen Dickon. He stood with the rest +and murmured, cursing. All at once he made for the ale-house.</p> +<p>“Fools that we are to stand like helpless brats when there +is liquor enough and to spare in yon cellars. He who is minded +to go dry throat to Heaven had best make haste; for me I will e’en +swill a bucket to the devil’s health, and so to hell.”</p> +<p>Half-a-dozen men followed him, pushing aside mine host who strove +to bar the door. Some of the women fell on their knees and clamoured +in half delirious prayer; the rest slunk dismayed to their pestilent +homes.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VII - THE VISION OF THE EVENING AND THE MORNING</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Meanwhile, news came to the Monastery of the ill case of the village, +for it lay scarce a league away across the forest; but the pine-trees +stood as guardian angels in between.</p> +<p>The Prior summoned the whole Convent, according to the ruling of +Blessed Benedict when the matter is a grave one, and told the tidings.</p> +<p>Then he went on to give reason for their assembling.</p> +<p>“My Brethren, it is in my heart that we dare not leave these +poor, stricken sheep to die alone without shepherding; moreover, in +their fear and desolation, they may flee to other villages, and so the +terror and pest spread ever further. And I deem that, inasmuch +as Charity is greater than Faith or Hope, so it is greater than obedience +also. Wherefore I purpose to set aside the Rule of our Order in +the letter that I may hold to it in the spirit, and go forth to serve +these perishing brethren; and I will take with me whosoever hears the +call of God in this visitation.”</p> +<p>When he had made an end, there was silence in the Chapter. +Break cloister, the Prior himself urging them thereto? The Convent +might scarce credit its ears.</p> +<p>Prior Hilarius watched his children with a tender smile on his white +face, and a prayer on his lips that love might have its triumph.</p> +<p>Five monks stood up, among them the Sub-Prior, and seven novices +sprang also to their feet.</p> +<p>“Nay, Brother Walter,” said Hilarius, turning to the +Sub-Prior, “this flock must have its shepherd also; thy place +is here. But I will take with me Brother Simon and Brother Leo, +who will doubtless suffice at first for the ministry, and - ” +smiling at the novices - “all these dear lads to tend the sick +and bury the dead.”</p> +<p>The Sub-Prior ventured on a remonstrance.</p> +<p>“Good Father, it is not fitting that thou should’st go +on such an errand; send me in thy stead, for my life is a small thing +as compared with thine. Moreover these novices, ’tis but +the other day the Master gave them as lazy and ill-conditioned, and +- ”</p> +<p>The Prior held up his hand.</p> +<p>“Dear Brother, I thank thee for thy love and care for me; but +my call has come. As for these - ” he stretched out his +hand towards the waiting novices - “maybe they are in the wrong +school, and the Lord hath even opened the door that they may serve Him, +perchance die for Him, elsewhere. And shall I count myself wiser +than Prior Stephen, who set me without the gate to learn my lesson? +Let us go in peace, my children, for we are about the Lord’s business.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Very early next day, having eaten of Heavenly manna, the little band +embraced their brethren and set out, laden with food and wine and herbs +from the farmery; and the Prior appointed a place to which the Convent +should send daily all things needed.</p> +<p>The shade of the forest was very welcome in the hot, breathless sunshine, +and the scent of the pine-needles, odorous, pungent, rose at each footfall +from the silent path. The Brethren chanted the Gradual Psalms +as they paced two and two through the sun-lit aisles, full of the Prior’s +memories; and he looked up again to see Our Lady’s robe across +the tree-tops. Then all at once the Psalm broke, and Brother Simon, +who was leading, stayed suddenly.</p> +<p>Under a bush beside the track lay a man, naked save for filthy rags; +his hair and beard matted with moss and leaves; his eyes sunk, his lips +drawn apart in a ghastly grin. Hilarius made haste to kneel beside +him, and lo! sudden remembrance lighted the fast-glazing eyes, but his +own answered not.</p> +<p>“My son, my son,” said the Prior, and his voice was very +pitiful, “thou art indeed in evil case; let me shrive thee ere +it be too late.”</p> +<p>He motioned the others to stand back, and raising the heavy head +upon his shoulder, bent close to catch the whisper of the parched lips.</p> +<p>At first no sound came, and then a hoarse word reached him.</p> +<p>“The Convent’s hens!”</p> +<p>The Prior stared amazed; then once more the laboured voice -</p> +<p>“Hast forgot thy theft, and the dancer?”</p> +<p>Hilarius needed no further word; in a moment the years were wiped +away.</p> +<p>“Lad, lad, to find thee again, and in such sorry plight! +But see, stay not thy shriving, for the time is short, and the Lord +ever ready to pardon.”</p> +<p>The man strove in vain to speak. At last he said quite clearly: +“I hunger,” and so saying died.</p> +<p>The Prior was greatly moved, and for a while he knelt in prayer, +while the Brethren, amazed, waited his pleasure. Then he rose, +and lo! before him lay the open glade where his schooling had begun, +and he had seen a flower incarnate dance in the wind.</p> +<p>He bade them lift the dead, and lay him in the hollow of the glade +under fallen branches until they could return and give him burial. +Then, as they went on their way, he told the tale of his little maid; +and when the telling was ended, the village they had come to succour +was in sight, and lo! they saw it through a mist.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII - “BEHOLD THE FIELDS ARE WHITE”</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The Prior’s heart was ready, and it seemed to him as he passed +up the village and saw the huddled, helpless people, that his little +maid led him by the hand.</p> +<p>Brother Simon, Brother Leo, and the novices turned aside to speak +comfort and carry succour to the sick and fearful, and to bury the dead; +for three unshriven souls had passed to judgment and mercy. Hilarius +made straight for the ale-house.</p> +<p>As he crossed the green, the door opened and Dickon stumbled blindly +down the steps. At sight of a monk he cried out, and suddenly +sobered, dropped on his knees, while the topers and roysterers staring +from the open doorway fell into silence.</p> +<p>Hilarius pushed back his cowl and stood bareheaded in the scorching +sun of that windless day; it came to his mind that he was very weary.</p> +<p>“Hear, O my children, the Lord hath sent me to succour you, +lest ye go down quick into the pit. Return, every one of you, +for the arms of His love are still stretched wide upon the Rood, and +the very hairs of your head are numbered. Repent ye, therefore, +and confess each one of you his sins, that I may prepare him for the +work of the Lord; and take comfort also, for they that are with us are +mighty.”</p> +<p>One by one the men, sobered by the shock of great surprise, confessed +and were shriven under the summer sun: only the man Dickon was not among +them. Then the Prior bade them get to work as he should direct; +and he set a watch that no man should flee the village; and all obeyed +him.</p> +<p>Early and late the Prior toiled with the Brethren and his band of +workers, nursing the sick, burying the dead, and destroying the pestilent +dwellings.</p> +<p>Brother Leo was the first to whom the call came: he answered it like +a soldier at his post.</p> +<p>As the Prior rose from the pallet of his dead son, one bade him come +quickly, for a dying man had need of him. It was Dickon.</p> +<p>The Prior, bearing with him the Body of the Lord, made haste to the +hovel where he lay, and shrived him though he scarce could hear his +muttered words; but lo! when he would place the Host he could not, for +a gold piece lay on the man’s tongue. The Prior drew back +dismayed, and behold, the Lord’s hand struck swiftly, and Dickon +died with a barren shriving - on whom may Christ take pity!</p> +<p>Next day great grey clouds curtained the arid, staring sky; and at +even came the rain. All through the night it fell; and one of +the novices, who lay a-dying in the Prioir’s arms, heard it as +he passed, and fell back, joy on his lips and a radiant smile on his +young face.</p> +<p>“‘<i>Esurientes implevit bonis</i>,’” said +the Prior, as he laid him down, blessing God.</p> +<p>A second novice died, then a third, and yet another; but there was +no need to call further help from the Monastery, for the Plague was +stayed. Never had cloistered monks spent such a strange season; +rarely such a blessed one.</p> +<p>The Feast of the Transfiguration was nigh at hand, and the Prior +was minded to return on that day to the waiting, anxious Convent, for +his work was done.</p> +<p>Great was the joy and preparation at the Monastery when the tidings +reached them; joy too for those who lay not in the shelter of the cloister +garth, but, as it were, on the battlefield where they had given their +lives for their brethren.</p> +<p>The holy day dawned without a cloud. A strong west wind bowed +the pines in the forest, and they worshipped and sang for joy, because +of the face of the Lord. The sun burnt bright in the great blue +dome, and earth shone with pale reflection of his glory.</p> +<p>The monks paced the cloister walks, and waited and watched to catch +the signal from the lay-brother posted without. At last the word +came that voices were heard in the distance; and monks and novices hastened +two and two to the gate. On the wind was borne the sound of a +chant.</p> +<p>“’Tis a dirge for those that are gone,” said Brother +Anselm; and crossing themselves, the Brothers chanted out the sonorous +response:</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“<i>Et lux perpetua luceat eis</i>.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>As they reached the open gate, the little band they waited for came +slowly down the forest pathway.</p> +<p>Four Brothers, only four; and lo! on their shoulders they bore a +rude bier of pine-branches.</p> +<p>This was the gathering of Brother Hilarius. Sweet-scented boughs +for his last bed; Mary’s lilies aglow for tapers tall; the censer +of the forest swung by sun and wind; and the glory of the face of the +Lord.</p> +<p>He had called his children to him in the late night-watches, and +having kissed and blessed them, he bade them turn him to the east, for +his time had come; and they obeyed in sore grief and perplexed. +Prior Hilarius lay and watched for the light, and as dawn parted night’s +veil with the long foregleam of the coming day, he shut his eyes like +a tired child and went home.</p> +<p>It was his heart, Brother Simon thought; but the Sub-Prior cried +through his tears:-</p> +<p>“Nay, nay, it was God a-hungered for His dear son.”</p> +<p>They bore the Prior into the white-clad Church, and laid him on his +forest-bed under the great Christ; and the novices, seeing the tender +smile on the beautiful face, whispered one to another, “The Prior +hath found his little maid.” And the Convent made Hilarius +a wondrous fair tomb of alabaster inlaid with gold, and carved him lying +thereon with Mary’s lilies across his breast.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, GATHERING OF BROTHER HILARIUS ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named tgobh10h.htm or tgobh10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, tgobh11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, tgobh10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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